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josiebelladonna · 1 year

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paraselenae | the scorpion's nest

pairing: alex skolnick x fem!oc x william duvall (the apple shed)

genre: western!au

fandoms: testament, alice in chains, motley crue

*18+ only; minors dni*

Warnings: double penetration

*Please note that you are responsible for your own media consumption. I came here to write and relax, not police you.*

Summary: alex and adrienne in the kitchen

Word Count: 3158

“Get on top,” I whispered to him.

Alex gripped onto my knee, and he showed me his tongue. William stayed on my right side, with one hand on my shin all the while. Two hot farm boys, right there right before my very eyes, and both of them with their cocks out for me. Of the two of them, Alex had the most beautiful one in all his slenderness and sleekness, as if he was made all for me; William meanwhile had a nice big dark one, a nice big dark dick.

I was as wet as I would ever be for the two of them and their long, lanky fingers. They caressed over the insides of my legs and down onto my lips. Two boys fondling me at the same time. I never thought anything like that would have ever happened to me in my wildest dreams.

I was about to have sex with two boys at the same time. Both of them on top of me. One right after the other. Their dicks swapping out for the other like a little tag team.

Alex held onto me and loomed before my face as he dipped inside of me with such ease. We locked eyes as he moved along so slowly and so tenderly; at one point, he reached for my lips and pressed a finger there to keep me silent. We were so quiet, and all I could do was lightly whimper when he pressed his lips onto my breasts.

William on the other hand, moved along at a slightly faster pace. He drove in a bit on the hard side, and yet, he managed to lock eyes with me. Both of them were quiet and tender, however, with their full lips and the way that they both wanted to feel me as well as fuck me.

And the next thing I knew, there were two of them within me. I was at the center of a little threesome, and the two of them were getting me at the same time. I didn’t even know that it was possible, especially with my own vagina.

How the three of us got to that point, however, was a question for the ages.

All I recalled before that point was the fact that the three of us were out there in the apple shed together, and we had some time to ourselves in the meantime as Vincent had left the farm and made his way down the hill to the heart of town for some things to last us until the next rainfall came about within the next week or so. I had nothing better to do in the house.

I stayed in the farmhouse for most of the morning with my weather journal plunked open on the kitchen table. I didn’t have my Galileo instruments with me, but I did have my concurrent knowledge of the outside world with me, however. The grasses began to poke their green and lush heads out from the cold earth out there, as how they should be in late wintertime following a healthy rainy season over the previous winter months: indeed, I relished in the greenery for that time being as I knew that more rain and snow was upon us before winter was up. Hell, I imagined it snowing well into March and beyond the spring equinox because this was Northern California and, up in the mountains, no less.

I jotted it all down in the pages of my journal. Vincent did have a thermometer and a barometer outside of the kitchen window, and yet, I had no idea if they were accurate, especially the thermometer because it never moved an inch from the moment that I woke up that morning.

Alex scurried into the room right then, dressed in a plain white T-shirt and faded blue denim jeans, and with his long black curls in flyaway fashion all around his head like a rich voluminous mane.

I showed him a little smile as he padded past the table into the kitchen for something, and that something was a yogurt cup from the fridge.

I paid very little attention to him as I wrote in my journal, my own personal weather report. He lingered at the edge of the table with his deep eyes fixed on the window beyond me. It wasn’t until he was right next to me when I realized he was reading that page of the journal.

“Forgive me for looking over your shoulder, Adrienne, but this is all so fascinating here,” he quipped in a single breath, which smelled of fresh blackberries.

“It really is,” I told him as I wrote down the date in the top right corner. “It’s why I went into meteorology, simply because it’s just so interesting.”

He took his seat there at the right side of the table, and he leaned back in his chair as he ate that freshly homemade blackberry yogurt.

It wasn’t until right then when I paid close attention to his facial features outside of the helmet of black hair and the little glimmer of gray at the crown there, to those little dark eyebrows that seemed almost lopsided in appearance and the full, aquiline tip of his nose as well. There was also the little freckle on the side of his neck, right at the base about the size of a pencil eraser.

“I know, I'm funny looking,” he confessed, and he licked the spoon and lowered his gaze to the floor beneath us. I shook my head at that.

“I think you’re handsome, Alex,” I said, and he cracked an unsure smile at that.

“Handsome?”

“Yeah. I think you’re quite handsome, actually. I think you’re kinda—kinda hot, actually. Now that I really look at you.”

He squinted his eyes at me, and then he leaned back in the chair. He bowed his head so his brow accentuated those deep eyes. I could feel something within me as I locked my eyes with his, as deep and cool as the coldest water at the bottom of the well.

“You seem so tender,” he told me in a low tone of voice, as if he was whispering a secret to me while we were lying in bed. “Tender and soft. Tender and soft is so, so rare, especially now.”

I tapped my pencil on the page of the journal before me and shrugged my shoulders.

“I don’t really think so,” I confessed to him with a shake of my head. “I’ve been told that affection isn’t really my strongpoint.”

He knitted his eyebrows and tilted his head to the side at that.

“Who told you that?”

“My uncle. He would tell me all kinds of crazy things about myself—things I didn’t really understand what he meant by, either. He would point out things about me and be critical of them.”

“Wow, what a bastard,” he remarked with a slight chuckle.

“And my dad would just let it happen, too, even though he was often subject to that very same criticism himself.” I shook my head and lowered my gaze back to the pages.

“So, you’re just going to buy into that nonsense?”

“Oh, no, I've long made peace with that,” I assured him with a little gesture of my free hand.

“How come you don’t really think you’re that affectionate then?” he asked me, baffled, and I shook my head again.

“I don’t really know, to be honest,” I confessed. “I guess I just—never really had the chance to love another person. To feel close to them. To feel bonded with them, be it romantically or through something like fucking them.”

He ran his tongue along his bottom lip and then gave his black locks a toss back with a flick of his head.

“You know, if it’s any comfort to you at all, Adrienne,” he began. “I’m a virgin, too.”

I gaped at him.

“How!” I asked him, and he shook his head.

“Just never had the confidence to make the first move,” he confessed. “Every girl I've ever been with I've never gelled with all the way. The girls I have been truly in love with I have difficulty telling them. It's hard for me to be vulnerable, like actually truly vulnerable, especially with a woman whom I'm very much in love with.”

“Have you thought about any way you could better break the ice?” I asked him.

“Oh, yeah, absolutely. It's just... you know. Actually, doing it—would you like some more lemonade?” He gestured to my empty glass right next to my hand.

“Please,” I replied, and he stood up and took my glass from the spot there. He froze for a moment, and I wondered as to what he was looking at, especially as he kept his head full of black locks right over me. I could smell his cologne as well as the soap from his hands: I looked down at his hands as they hovered right over me. His fingers were long and lanky, almost like skeleton hands, and yet I couldn’t stop looking at them. They were beautiful, like him. I glanced up at him right as he let out a low whistle and took the glass from me.

“Are you okay?” I asked him.

“Yeah. I just kinda—had a moment there. Phew.”

He backed away from there to fetch the pitcher of lemonade from the fridge. All the while, I watched him and the way that he poured it into the glass.

He had the cutest little roll around his waist, which showed itself more to me once he leaned back right on the spot and opened his legs a bit, as if he was doing a power stance for me from the side. It was tiny but I could see it there as it gently poked out over the waist of his jeans. He returned to me with my glass as well as his own.

“I know, my pants are a little tight,” he told me with a sly smirk on his face.

“They’re not that tight,” I promised him, and instead of sitting down next to me, he lingered there at the edge of the table as if he was about to tell me something important.

I looked down at the crotch of his jeans, and I could see the denim tightening up a bit. I looked up at him again and the warm pink color that blossomed in his face, as if he had just been outside in the heat.

“Are you feeling alright?” I asked him again.

“Never better,” he told me as he downed the lemonade in four large gulps. I set down my pencil and stood up before him: my belly brushed up against his body, and that was my cue to touch him some more. He held his glass out before him as I lingered up close to him for the kiss.

Very gently, I ran my fingers along his waist: through the snug fabric, I could feel the softness that resided there in all its beauty. I gave him the softest kiss on the side of his neck, and he showed me the tip of his tongue in response to that. He parted his lips and let out the softest moan, as if that genuinely turned him on. He held back and gazed into my face with a slight pout to his lips.

“You sure you haven’t kissed a boy before?” he asked me in a low whisper.

“Positive,” I replied.

“I ask because... damn.” He breathed a little harder and included a little shiver in there as well. “That felt really good. Could you do it again?”

“Touch on the tummy, too?”

“Please. I need to be touched there.” His voice was tender and gentle, as gentle and sweet as I could ever imagine coming from a boy’s silken lips. My hand there on his waist once more and I kissed him squarely on the lips again, in all their softness and in all their sweetness.

“We don’t tell Vincent,” I whispered into his lips.

“Never,” he breathed back to me as I kissed him again. That time, he put his arms around me and rested his hands on the small of my back. He gently groaned in his throat at the feel of my body pressed up against his. “God, I love this...” His voice was so soft and breathy that it sent a deep chill up my spine.

“Want me to touch you down below?” I offered him, also in a breathy voice.

“Please do,” he whispered back.

I reached down into the front of his jeans with both hands, and inside of that snug fabric, I could feel his warm soft skin. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, and yet I had my fingers all over him. He parted his lips and breathed out: I could smell the blackberries on his breath. How I wished to taste him some more, and not from his mouth and those little lips of his, either.

I dropped down to his waist and the button of his jeans for an extra pull.

I revealed him to me, that soft bare skin and everything. It was such a sight to see as I had yet to see Vincent for myself, but I was more than willing to bear witness to Alex, however. I licked my lips and moved my head in closer to him. He gasped from the feeling of my lips on the top there, and then he followed it up with a soft whimper as I moved up along the top of his shaft.

“Give me a little blow,” he beseeched in a near whisper.

I opened my mouth and took him in; all the while, I left my eyes open so he could look down and look right into my eyes. My gaze never left him, especially once I reached up and fondled the tops of his thighs as well as his hips. I moved my hands up to the bottom of his shirt so I could touch his beautiful belly under there.

It was doing a number on my knees, but I wanted to keep going, and I wanted to keep going for him as well. He reached back and clutched at the edge of the table to steady himself.

I moved my lips in closer to his body: I couldn’t explain it but the wave of confidence swept over me. I could touch him in any way that he wanted and he could do whatever I said to him. I could make him beg for me if I so wanted it, and I had a feeling that he could make me beg if he wanted it from me as well. We stood at the edge of the ocean, and the waves swirled on either side of us.

I moved in closer to his body again, and that time around, I closed my eyes so I could better take in the taste of his skin. I then let him slide right out from my mouth, right from the top of my tongue, and I moved in closer to his face to take in that blackberry smell from his mouth as well. The blush crossed his face some more, and he had the look of ultimate lust in his eyes, especially when breathed even harder for me. His chest rose and fell in steady succession, and I didn’t even have to take a look down to his waist to see that he was erecting more and more right at the sight of my body before him.

I peeled off my shirt and lay it over the top of the chair next to me. He shuddered from the feeling within him as well as the sight of my bare body in front of him: my breasts were full, and I could feel the nipples hardening inside of the bra cups. His fingers crept across my love handles to my hipbones, and very slowly, he tugged me closer to him. I didn’t want to be that close to his erection, but I couldn’t help it anyway, especially since his body was that warm and that soft, and especially since I knew for certain that I was going to be closer to him shortly thereafter.

“Let’s go upstairs to the safety of your room,” he whispered to me, and he pouted his lips at me, these little ripe cherries that were perfectly ripe all for my taking, for the sweetest cherry pie I could think of that wasn’t on me.

“No, let’s go out to the apple shed,” I whispered back to him, and he cracked me a mischievous little smile.

I could feel him unhooking my bra but I bowed away from him. I wanted him to chase me.

I ran out through the kitchen door to the gravel, and I could hear him running after me.

I darted around the front of the barn to the door of the apple shed, where William stood with a garden hose in hand and a perplexed look on his face. He lowered his gaze to my bare body and raised his eyebrows at me.

I turned around and there was Alex, still with his pants down and with the blush still firmly in place on his face.

“What the hell is going on?” William sputtered.

“Join us?” I offered him.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

He hung up the garden hose on the hook next to the door and gestured for us to come on inside of the apple shed. Alex closed the door behind him, and I lay down on the floor. William took off my pants followed by his own.

I was about to sit up when those black lips caressed my own.

“You should get down,” Alex whispered right into my ear: his voice was still husky and warm. As I lay down on the floor, he loomed over me such that his long black curls dangled down towards me. His oval face lingered closer to me. I could feel the warmth from his lanky little body right above me: through the warm light from the lamp upon the nightstand on the other side of the bed, I made out the fine lines that ran along his biceps, in all their tone and rather large size. Though he was the shy one of the three of them, he was also the one who was the most sensual, especially once I glanced down at the rest of his body as he kept it suspended over me.

He pressed his knee down onto the floor, right next to my hip, and that was when I lay down flat on my back for him. He showed me his tongue, as if he completely and totally lusted all for me.

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hood-ex · 2 years

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Hey Emily can you and your writer-reader friends help us with this? It's a long story so sorry for that.

Me and a couple close friends found an author in a new fandom, we've been more or less chatting with her anonymously for a few months now and she's pretty nice we share a lot of brainrots as writer-readers ourselves. This author is kind of a niche writer so it's understandable that she really wants her fans to leave comments and be openly supportive, within this time she even had a depressive episode due to lack of engagement and fandom wankery. All understandable really. She came back a while ago and is back in great mood, and she dropped new fics too.

The problem is, the newest fic was sad and dark, the characters were bitter and the ending was ambiguous, tags and summary conveyed that, it was all intentional and her own friends have been hyping it up as sad bitter dark fic (not problematic dark, just dramatically angsty and bleak that fits canon tonally)

One of us has been going thru a very rough time themself, spiraled badly it seems, and I didn't learn about it until today. They read the fic, not their type of fic at all but I think they just wanted to feel something even if it was negative, judging by the comment. They're a big commenter and they left a long comment detailing all the stuff they liked, quotes, and that they really liked how the ending was not necessarily happy. This started the problem. Now the writer is constantly talking about how she hates sad endings, shading sad/ bittersweet endings, got her friends to post a lot of Happy content about those characters all of a sudden, talking to her other anons like she's venting about my friend's comment and my friend who had been avoiding social media happened to check in once, only to find all of that on their dash. They're now really upset at themself.

It's a messy situation and Idk how to help. I got to talk to my friend after days and this is what I see. They're regretting everything from commenting to ever "bothering" that author by chatting with her like It Is A Mess okay, and of course I'm worried about my friend but Idk how to handle the situation so the author doesn't get any flame or thinks we're attacking her? Our other friend is not as invested so he's okay with dropping the author altogether. Please advise us fanfic veterans we need it badly.

As long as your friend didn’t write anything rude/mean in their comment, I don’t see how they’ve done anything wrong in this situation. It sounds like the author is overreacting to a harmless comment.

At this point, it might be best to no longer engage with the author about this particular fic/topic if it’s going to cause distress to any of the parties involved. It might be better for you and your friend to put some space between y’all and the author for now. Maybe unfollow her until she’s done ranting about this topic. Eliminate the stressor from your lives, y’know? It doesn’t mean you can’t still read and enjoy her fics in the meantime.

I’ve personally reached out to people through chat when a problem has arisen (I wouldn’t try this approach anonymously via an Ask). I like this approach because you can be more direct without outsiders (followers) being in your business. However, I know this approach can be intimidating, especially when you’re trying to talk to a larger blog. Your friend also might not want to risk getting further backlash from the author which is understandable.

If your friend does decide to take the direct conversation approach then remind them not to come off aggressive or super defensive. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. Just a simple, “Hey, sorry for bothering you. I’ve seen you making some posts about so-and-so and I wanted to apologize if it was because of the comment I made on so-and-so fic. Just wanted to let you know I didn’t mean anything bad by it/didn’t mean to imply anything negatively about you/your fics.”

There's really not much else you can do about the situation. Just reassure your friend that they didn't do anything wrong/don't deserve the backlash and then try and wait for the author to move past the topic. It's up to y'all on whether y'all want to still engage with this author in the future.

Best of luck to you 🖤.

#this reminds me of the time my mutual made a post and i thought it was about something i had posted earlier #so i messaged them and was like ''hey so sorry for the post i made. i didn't mean to ruin blahblah for you.''#and they messaged me back like ''oh you're good. my post was actually about some other people'' alskdjalka #so sometimes you think people are talking about you but they're actually talking about someone completely different #it's nice to have it cleared up though so that you're not secretly stressing about it for days on end #anon

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thedemon-mirajane · 1 year

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Lore/Rein here and this is a sideblog for 7 different anime!

Last Update: Dec. 05, 2023

System, SEAsian, and bodily 26. Follows from @loreofthefritz (main/dbz blog).

About:

This is now a blog of seven different anime: Fairy Tail, Naruto/Boruto, Undead Unluck, Frieren: Beyond Journey's End, Dungeon Meshi, Hunter x Hunter, To Your Eternity, Zom 100: Bucket List of the Dead, and Yu Yu Hakusho!

You can see our other blogs in the next section of this post, and a more personal introduction to us in our personal blog.

Below are Lore's and Rein's favorite characters, ships, and arcs in both series:

Fairy Tail:

(tagged as #Fairy Tail)

Characters: Mirajane Strauss, Lucy Heartfilia, Erza Scarlet, Kagura Mikazuchi, and Minerva Orland

Ships: Aside from all the canon pairs, I do a lot of multishipping and I do shift my HC of their sexuality, orientation, and ID around depending on my stories. My ships outside canon are: Mira x Erza, Kagura x Minerva, Erza x Minerva, Freed x Midnight / Macbeth, Laxus x Freed, and a lot more that I’ll eventually remember.

Arcs: Tartarus, Grand Magic Games, Edolas, Oracion Seis, in that order. I do like most of them including filler arcs though.

Naruto:

(tagged as #Naruto; haven’t caught up with Boruto but it’ll be tagged as #Boruto)

Characters: Uchiha Sasuke, Haruno/Uchiha Sakura, Uzumaki Naruto, Hatake Kakashi, Tenten and Team Guy, (Yamanaka) Sai, Yamato, Team Hebi/Taka, Hyuuga/Uzumaki Hinata, Uchiha Sarada, and Uzumaki Himawari. In that order.

Ships: Aside from all the canon pairs, I do a lot of multishipping and I do shift my HC of their sexuality, orientation, and ID around depending on my stories. My ships outside canon are: narusasusaku and pair variations, nejiten, saiinosaku and pair variations, kakaguy, kakairu, kakayama, kakaobi, shinokiba, sasusui, and suikarin. In that order. There's probably more that I don't remember.

Arcs: Chuunin Exams + Konoha Crush, Five Kage Summit, Itachi Pursuit Mission + Fated Battle Between Brothers, Sasuke Recovery Mission, Tenchi Bridge Reconnaissance Mission, Pain's Assault, Land of Waves, all of Fourth Shinobi War + Katsuya Otsutsuki Strikes minus fillers, and all of Shinden and Hiden + Kakashi Anbu Arc. In that order. I haven't liked that many Naruto fillers but the ones with Team 7 and Konoha 12 just being kids are an exception.

I intend to post some of my writing here and the other things I create but I just never seem to remember to do so. However, please do enjoy our blog for the meantime! -Lore/Fritz

If there's any issue or problem at all that you want us to address, feel free to slip an ask or DM!!

Anything else you want to know you can find in our carrd and our personal blog.

Our other blogs:

@loreofthegayuma - personal, opinions, non-fandom writing blog (no writing yet)

@loreofthe-frit-z - main + dragon ball blog (don't follow this one unless you really like dragon ball)

@lore-loves-animated-shows - pixar, dreamworks, and disney side-blog

@loreoffandoms - sideblog of random fandoms (check its pinned post to see which they are)

@soccerpunching - sports animanga + mob psycho 100, dr. stone, bakugan sideblog (mostly inazuma eleven)

We will block if...

you're any type of bigot: racist, (neo)nazi, colorist, ableist, antisemitic, queerphobic (YES including terfs and aro/ace/gnc exclus), fatphobic, pro-life, anti-vax, etc.

you talked to us about:

your body shaming, slut-shaming, victim blamey, and "x character is useless" takes.

your child x adult ships, non-con/dubcon, incest ships, cheater HCs, grooming ships, and J*ra*ya (from Naruto) or your ships with him.

you don't tag properly regarding the ones I've mentioned above.

Tags used for own posts (if we make any):

#lores of fritz - personal experiences, thoughts, and opinion

#good fillers - non-FT or Naruto related posts

Fairy Tail

#Guild Post - any Fairy Tail own posts

#Request Board - answering FT-related asks

#my demon mira - all rbs and own posts with Mirajane in them

#my bestie lucy - all rbs and own posts with Lucy in them

#my knight erza - all rbs and own posts with Erza in them

#my water goddess juvia - all rbs and own posts with Juvia in them

#Guild Mail - posting FT-related submissions

Naruto

#My nindo - any Naruto/Boruto own posts

#Hawk Messages - answering Naruto/Boruto-related asks

#lores of fritz #good fillers

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stranger-nightmare · 2 years

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Hope Hosts (another) Sleepover Event: 1st - 14th Feb

Edit: temporarily paused

Regular Page Navigation

Okay so this was supposed to be to celebrate me hitting 2k followers but in the meantime I’ve managed to hit 3.9k followers lmao!

So to celebrate I’m doing another sleepover, but this time you can request mini headcanons / drabbles, but specifically for characters that I haven’t written for yet!

You’re also more than welcome to play some games with me / ask questions, just come join in the sleepover fun!🖤

I don’t really have time frame for this other than it will begin on Feb 1st and will likely last for about two weeks, so hopefully we’ll wrap up just in time for Valentines Day!! But honestly it depends on how many of you get involved, we shall see😈

Edit: requests closed, all slots are full

Without further ado, here’s the list of characters you can request for: (but you are welcome to request someone outside of this list if you really want to)

Wanda Maximoff

Yelena Belova

Kate Bishop

Harley Quinn (DCEU)

Steve Rogers

Thor Odinson

Loki

Sylvie

Peter Parker (Andrew/TASM variant only)

Makkari (would love to do some Drukkari x Reader too)

Thena

Sersi

Ajak

Dane Whitman

Frank Castle

Billy Russo

Carol Danvers

Hope Van Dyne

Valkyrie

Eddie Brock

Xu Xialing

Xu Shang-Chi

Here are the characters I have technically written for but not a lot so would definitely like to do more of:

Bucky Barnes

Natasha Romanoff

Rick Flag (DCEU)

Geralt of Rivia (The Witcher)

Ikaris

But also please feel free to request almost any other character you want, if I know them (and like them) I’ll happily write something for you!🖤

IMPORTANT: My only 'rule' this time is that I will limiting my headcanons / drabbles to 15 slots. With this limited availability in mind I therefore ask please do not request more than one writing per person, just so more people have the opportunity to get something🖤

Here’s some prompt lists you can use if you’d like:

Hurt / Comfort prompts

Angst / Fluff / Smut prompts

Send in your requests!! (only one per person please) (limited to 15 slots)

Questions / games are unlimited, feel free to fire away!

Send me:

This or that / make me choose

FMK (kiss or kill, you choose) (bonus points if its from the characters listed above)

Questions (personal or fandom related)

Ask for advice

Ask about an upcoming project

Ask about my Second Chances series

Confess something to me / make me confess

Horny thots (again, bonus points if from the list above)

As there will be nsfw thots this event is strictly 18+, minors you shouldn’t be on my page to begin with so shoo!!

More in-depth info here

Thank you, love you!✨💫🖤🥰 let’s have some fun!

- Hope🐝

I am once again (no pressure) tagging some of moots🥰 @mothdruid @wannabevampire @murdicks @galaxysgal @wtfobiwan @mushroomlupin @clints-lucky-arrow @inklore @siempre-bucky @singledadharrington @redroomproperty @tompetersebbuckyhazleo @foxe @sapphireplums @greenorangevioletgrass @lokianddruigsbitch @bemine-bucky @strwbrrybucky

P.S. sorry for the incredibly long post🙈

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guardianofrivendell · 3 years

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Of bookcases and headaches

Merry x gn!reader

Requested: Yes, by a lovely anon for my 1k sleepover! “Congratulations! May I ask for 💙 with Merry, General Prompt 8 and/or 6?”

Prompts: 6 - Are you taking care of yourself? 8 - Is that my book?

Warnings: no warnings, how about that?

A/N: This got longer than I intended to... So this gets its own post and will be linked with the oneshots instead of sleepover drabbles. It was the first time writing for Merry (besides the preference posts) so thank you anon for this request! Also yes, this might have been inspired by the events of the past week :)

I’ve been out of my writing mood for weeks - ever since I’ve published Dwarves Always Knock Thrice and I hope I’m getting back into it with this fluffy comfort fic 🙈

Merry was on his way to meet up with Pippin in the Green Dragon, their weekly visit for a pint or two to celebrate the end of the week. Or the beginning of a new one. Any reason was a good one really.

The all too familiar path took him past your house and he caught himself slowing down his pace every time, in the hopes of catching you outside so he could invite you to join him.

Which was ridiculous really, since you were both friends who regularly talked to each other. It wouldn’t be considered weird for him to knock on your door and simply ask you to join him for a pint.

But somehow Merry found it extremely difficult to do so.

Most of the time he just lingered for a few seconds before he chickened out and quickly continued his way to his favorite pub, telling himself that next time he’ll be brave enough to do it.

Today however it went a little different.

When he stopped at the white fence surrounding your yard, he noticed something different about your house. Something that didn’t feel quite right. It took him a while before he realized what was wrong.

The curtains were drawn.

And it wasn’t even time for afternoon tea yet!

Without a second thought, Merry opened the gate and made his way over to your yellow front door. Gone were his nerves and his doubts, replaced with worry for you.

He knocked a few times but you didn’t answer.

It wasn’t until he started knocking on your window, calling out your name that he heard the front door unlock.

“Y/N?” he asked.

You had opened the door just a smidge, enough for you to be able to see who was so rude to disturb your peace and quiet.

“Merry?” you croaked.

Merry’s face went blank when he heard your raspy voice.

“Y/N? Are you alright? What’s wrong?!”

You winced at the volume of his voice, and one of your hands flew to the side of your head. “Shhhh,” you shushed him, stepping back into the darkness of your entrance hall and leaving the door open.

Merry hesitated for a second, not sure if he should follow. But if you didn’t want him to come inside, you would’ve closed the door or told him to go bugger off. Right?

Every curtain in the house was drawn, there weren’t any candles lit and Merry’s eyes needed some time to adjust to the lack of light before he could go any further.

As he entered your living room, his eyes widened at the state it was in. Books and scrolls scattered everywhere, like they were carelessly tossed aside without a second thought where they would end up. This was very unlike you.

He watched you curl up in your armchair with a heavy sigh, tucking your feet under you and burying yourself under your blanket. It was obvious he had woken you up, which explained the raspiness of your voice.

“This place is a mess, Y/N… ” “Yeah, thanks to you,” you accused him. “What did I do?” Merry looked at you confused. “You don’t have to yell, I can hear you just fine.” “Y/N, I’m not yelling,” he said, taking a few steps in your direction. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

You ignored his question.

“My living room looks like a troll horde because I was looking for that.”

You pointed towards the small wooden side table where, in between empty teacups and dirty plates, lay a thick book with a dark blue binder.

Merry recognized the silver lettering on the spine.

“Is that my book? The one that you borrowed from me… A year ago or so?””

You hummed in response, burying your head in your hands. “I know, I’m a horrible person!”

He chuckled. “Y/N, you’re hardly horrible. The complete opposite would be more accurate in fact.”

You raised your head a little too fast at his words and you winced.

“I’ll go and make you some tea,” Merry smiled at you and made his way to your kitchen, taking the dirty cups and plates with him.

He brought you a fresh cup of tea, almost tripping over the many books and paper scrolls on the floor in the process. You took a sip and winced when you burned your tongue.

“Careful, it’s hot. I thought that was a given,” Merry said, rolling his eyes in a playful geste.

He took the cup out of your hands and placed it on the side table before he crouched down in front of you.

“Now will you finally tell me what’s wrong? I cannot help if you won’t tell me.”

Merry’s eyes met yours and you noticed the concern in them. He didn’t even try to hide it.

“I hurt my head and now I can not bear any light or noise… And my stomach is upset for some reason. It’ll pass.”

Merry’s eyes widened. He did not know a lot about healing or injuries but he knew what it was like to have a concussion. It was that kind of knowledge you gathered over the years when you were friends with a Took.

“It sounds a lot like a concussion, Y/N. How did you hurt your head?”

“Long story short, I thought I lost your book. I did not want to tell you because you were going to be mad at me and I hate it when you’re mad at me-” “When have I ever been mad at you?” he interrupted. “Hush, I’m trying to explain something here. But then when I was lying upside down in my chair, I saw your book underneath my bookcase. That’s why I couldn’t find it!” “Should I ask why you were lying upside down?”

You raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. He would almost think your headache was gone, if not for the slight squinting of your eyes and your pale complexion.

“Do you really want to go there, Merry?” “Hey, if I’m missing out I want to know!” “It’s a great way to see things from a different perspective,” you explained with a smile, but it did not reach your eyes.

He rested his chin on his hand. “Hmm, i guess you could be right. Now, continue, what happened with the book?”

“When I tried to get the book - your book - from under the bookcase, I couldn’t. It was stuck. So I gave it a good yank, but then the whole thing started toppling over!” “So rude!” he gasped dramatically. “Right?” you laughed, and this time it did reach your eyes. Merry was happy to see you were slowly getting in better spirits and pride filled his chest knowing he was the reason behind it. “I was able to stop the case from falling over, but most of the books fell off the shelves. A few of them hit my head pretty hard.”

Merry nodded in understanding. “Hence the headache. And your troll horde.”

You huddled a little deeper under your blanket and closed your eyes.

“I didn’t feel like cleaning it up yet.” “When did this happen?”

You opened your eyes again but kept them trained on the ground.

“Two days ago…” “Two days- Y/N, have you been taking care of yourself these two days? You should’ve called someone!”

You scoffed.

“I know how to take care of myself, Merry. Besides, I was more asleep than anything else. I didn’t need help.” “You don’t have to do everything by yourself, Y/N. There are people who care for you, you only have to let them in.”

The silence that followed was deafening and Merry wondered if he had said too much.

He jolted back to his feet and clapped his hands before he could help it. You flinched and groaned softly, cursing him.

“I’m sorry!” Merry apologized quickly. “I forgot! I was about to tell you what I planned and I got excited. I’ll try and be good from now on.”

“We both know that’s impossible,” you chuckled. Merry was relieved you weren’t angry with him.

“I’m going to the Green Dragon first, Pippin is probably wondering why I didn’t show up and I don’t want to make him worried. After that I’m coming back, okay? Then I’ll clean up your books so you don’t break your neck. In the meantime, you try and get some more sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He turned around and stepped into the hallway, but paused when you called his name.

“Merry?” “Yeah?” “You’re the best friend someone could wish for,” you smiled, fighting to keep your eyes open.

“So I’ve been told...”

Permanent taglist:@roosliefje @kata1803 @entishramblings @artsywaterlily @sleepy-daydream-in-a-rose @marvelschriss @kumqu4t @myrin1234 @dark-angel-is-back @the-fandoms-georgie @lathalea @xxbyimm @sokkasdarling @katethewriter @aredhel-of-gondolin @leethology @thepeanutcollective @elvish-sky @moony-artnstuff @emmapotato88 @kirenia15 @vicmackeybullshxt @hey-its-nonny @moarfandomtrash @anjhope1

If your name is scratched, it means I couldn’t tag you :)

#Merry x reader #Merry x gn!reader #Merry x you #Merry Brandybuck #Meriadoc Brandybuck #Lord of the rings #Lotr fanfiction #Lotr imagine #Lord of the rings x reader #Guardianofrivendell 1k sleepover #Lord of the rings imagine #lotr #requested

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yeswevegotavideo · 3 years

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Opening Line Tag Meme

Edit: In true tumblr fashion the formatting got all fucked up so the first 10 aren't numbered anymore, fyi.

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

Hoo boy, ok! Gotta' figure out when I started writing what, 'cause I've got some unposted WIPs in here.

Thanks to @gottagobuycheese for the tag! I tag @arcanemoody, @teadrinkingwolfgirl, @holycatsandrabbits, @slow-burn-sally, and anybody else who wants to do it! :)

List after the cut, 'cause it's long lol Now then, from most to least recent, let's see...

In the Beginning, only the Creator existed, and She Knew Not From Whence She Came. Fic: you will exhale cinnamon clouds Fandom: Good Omens Comments: That is italicized on purpose - the fic implies that if you see italicized narration in serif font, it is possibly the Voice of God...maybe. This was my first time participating in a Big Bang, and it was very fun and EXTREMELY STRESSFUL and I doubt I'll ever participate in another one.

The Angel of the Eastern Gate was…fascinating. Fic: Time Can Do So Much (WIP) Fandom: Good Omens Comments: I'm gonna finish this someday I swear, but it's a lower priority than Close to Home. (Because let's face it, Close to Home is more popular lol)

"Little demonic miracle of my own," Crowley said casually, handing off the bag and sauntering past the stunned angel, "Lift home?" Fic: Close to Home, So Far Away (WIP) Fandom: Good Omens Comments: That line barely counts, since the dialogue is lifted directly from the show, and I almost included the next one. But the action description is obviously mine. This is the WIP that currently dominates the anxious part of my brain (along with the writer's block part, the creative part, the restless part, and the guilty part). But I'm. Going. To. Finish. It.

It was a perfectly lovely brunch. Fic: Velocity Fandom: Good Omens

Comments: First fic I ever posted in a large fandom. Well, large compared to any other fandom I've ever posted in, anyway. It was insane getting that number of comments/views/kudos on any fic all at once. (It's even more insane how quickly one gets used to such a thing and starts comparing it to subsequent works lol)

“Regis, it’s time.” Fic: Hope in Darkness (working title, unpublished WIP) Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Comments: So, I have this FFXV fic. I'm probably never going to post it. Idk. Maybe someday when the fandom is mostly dead lmao. The fic follows the lives of the quad from infancy to the start of the World of Ruin/Darkness. It's followed by another, even WIP-er fic with working title Decade of Darkness. I'm currently stalled immediately after getting their quad together, at Gladio's 21st birthday party. (Yes, that means Prompto is 17. Yes, that is exactly why I'm hesitant to post it.)

They entered the stairwell and the moment the door closed, Vyvyan shoved Rick against the wall with the force of his kiss. Fic: Love & Mobsters - The Lost Scenes (perpetual WIP, entirely PWP) Fandom: The Young Ones Comments: One of those "this is where the porn goes" WIPs that will probably never actually be closed and may or may not ever be added to. *shrug* What can I say? It's just where the porn goes.

There's something wrong with the garden. Fic: Paper Boats Fandom: The Young Ones Comments: I love this fic. I don't honestly care if others do, though I'm glad many seem to. That is all. Btw that line is in italics because it's thought. That's definitely a convention of mine. That, and writing flashbacks in present tense.

The new kid arrived around two in the afternoon, driven in especially by one of the many social workers known well to the residents. Fic: Infinity (WIP) Fandom: The Young Ones Comments: Another WIP I swear I'll finish eventually. This one kind-of lost steam because I realized I don't actually know how to write teenage British boys in the 70s, nor prison stories in general. Idk, I'll figure it out eventually, probably.

Vyvyan closed the door behind him and slinked into the night. Fic: Skin Fandom: The Young Ones Comments: In direct contradiction to what I just said two fics ago, this story features flashbacks that are in past tense. And then in present tense in the next chapter. I believe this is what they call "inconsistency".

It was December 24th, and all throughout London, preparations for Christmas were kicking into high gear. Fic: Winter Holiday Fandom: The Young Ones Comments: This was a fun one to write. I basically tried to write a Christmas episode, and commenters largely confirm I succeeded. My favorite comment was, "It was just like watching a very special extra episode, with bonus shagging."

Note: the rest of these are from The Young Ones - Love & Mobsters, my TYO series, so I'm not going to keep listing fic & fandom and commenting. The quotes will just directly link to the corresponding fic. They're still in reverse order, from newest to oldest, meaning they'll be linked to the series backwards.

"Would you still love me if I were ugly?"

Rick woke to the feeling of Vyvyan stroking his cheek. He smiled softly as he yawned and opened his eyes.

The punch to the stomach had hurt.

Vyvyan is awake in bed, staring at the ceiling.

I thought I was in love with him, diary, I really did.

I'm horribly disappointed.

A life of crime did odd things to Vyvyan.

Vyvyan talks in his sleep.

So I'm standing outside this shop, waiting for the bloody door to open and freezing my bollocks off in the meantime.

The razor buzzed by Vyvyan's ear.

More than anything I think I've learned that there's no discernible pattern to my opening lines! lmao.

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wonderlandleighleigh · 4 years

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On fan engagement!

I keep seeing people get upset about their fics not being reblogged.

Let me see if i can break this down in like...a marketing way. Having spent some time doing some marketing junk.

Likes are likes. They are pretty standard. We equate them to Kudos on AO3, thumbs up on Facebook, hearts on Twitter...and just...they’re likes. they’re great! They show you that there is interest in what you’re doing. Someone read it, or saw it, and said “that’s great!” And they smashed that like button.

Reblogs...are a little more like buys, because there’s more of a commitment in reblogging: putting it in the queue, tagging, commenting...If a user reblogs a post, that means that it really meant something to them. It is special. It fits into what their own blog is about; their internet lifestyle. They want to see that on their own blog and they want their followers to see it, too.

If we’re equating reblogs to buys, you can assume that 5% of people who liked your post, will reblog. Because generally, if we’re talking media, you can expect 5% of the people who gave your advertising post a like to buy it.

So! If I have 39 notes on one of my posts, then about 2 people might reblog that post. More than that? Cool. That post with 39 notes got 6 reblogs, which is 15%. Woohoo! I have a post with 144 notes, and 13 of those are reblogs. That’s a little over 9%. I’ll take it!

I have some posts with a thousand or two thousand notes. I have some that only have 3. I posted a big, long snippet from my big West Wing/DC Comics/Marvel Comics/Chuck crossover last week? It only got 10 notes. It got 1 reblog. And I know i’m lucky to get that much engagement on that post, because it’s niche. I know that if I write Star Wars, I’ll likely get more engagement. If I write Batman I’ll likely get less than Star Wars, but I’ll probably get a good amount. If I post SPN fic...well...*hears the crickets because she doesn’t write Dean/Cas* You get my drift.

After...what? 11 years on Tumblr? You learn your trends.

Look, while it’s always ALWAYS appreciated when someone gives me a reblog, likes are also super great! It doesn’t bother me that so many people like instead of reblog. That doesn’t mean they didn’t like my work. That doesn’t mean they don’t like me.

It just doesn’t fit with their internet lifestyle. Maybe they’re an ATLA blog that reads Star Wars or Batman fic, but doesn’t want to put other fandoms on their blog. Maybe they only have an art blog, and want to keep it specifically for their art.

Maybe they just don’t want to.

It’s not personal. It’s not meant to hurt a writer or artist, and it’s wild to me to see many creators shame and guilt users for merely liking their posts. I think I even saw someone tell users that they should make a secondary blog for reblogs.

Some of us don’t have the emotional or mental bandwidth to keep up with two blogs. Some people don’t want to.

Tumblr will probably not make you famous. Tumblr generally won’t bring you outside world success. This is supposed to be fun. If you’re not having any fun, I think maybe reevaluating why you do what you do might be a good call.

In the meantime, thank you to everyone who takes time out of their hellish lives in this horrific dystopian year to read my fic. I appreciate you, likes, reblogs, weird anon notes, and all. <3

#Leigh Thinks about stuff #fan engagement marketing your work and the politics of notes

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captain--sif · 3 years

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THE FIVE SENSES OF CHRISTMAS

Words: 2.1k Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV) Characters: Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley, minor Fire Fam (9-1-1 TV) Additional Tags: Sensory prompts, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Christmas, Holiday Fic Exchange, Christmas Party, Found Family, beta read by grammarly, Pre-Slash, Pre-Relationship, Karaoke Summary:

Eddie is late to a holiday gathering of the fire fam. He goes through the motions.

A/N: For @an-alternate-world as part of the Buddie Discord Secret Elf Gift Exchange 2020. I hope you had nice holidays and I’m wishing you a nice and happy new year.

Read the whole fic on AO3 or under the cut:

THE SIGHTS OF CHRISTMAS

They’re going to be late, Eddie realizes as he glances at the clock in the dashboard/panel behind the steering wheel. He hopes that they’ll be late enough that everyone is already deep in conversation or too engaged in their drinks, food, or the music to pay much attention to them entering, so he can just set down Chris with the other kids and silently slide onto the bench next to Buck who’ll greet him with a soft smile.

Finally, he pulls up in front of the karaoke bar, taking note of the nicely decorated tree someone has put up next to the entrance. On the other side, they’ve put a giant blown-up Santa Claus and Eddie can’t help but shiver. It’s a nice idea that Chimney came up with, suggesting that they all get together at his and Maddie’s favorite karaoke bar for the Christmas themed family evening on their free day. He’s heard a lot of good things about it from Buck, who Eddie knows has been there with them already. Eddie just wishes he were in a better mood to enjoy it today. Which is one of the reasons why he’d like his team and their families not to pay too close attention to him.

He sighs, putting his car into park and turning the key in the ignition. He turns back to look at Chris in the backseat. Seeing his son looking outside with excitement in his eyes lifts his mood a little. He hopes Chris has fun tonight, even if he doubts that’ll apply to himself.

They have to pass the creepy Santa figure to get inside but once they do, Eddie finds that the decorations become a lot more tasteful. There are colorful lights, mostly, but also a few small Christmas trees in the corners. The music is turned lower in benefit of the children and the bar and the tables are lined with fir branches interspersed with ornaments in silver and red. Eddie likes it.

Chris moves away from him, prompting him to do the same but not waiting on him. Eddie follows Chris’s line of sight and sure enough, they’re all there already, sitting, talking, eating, and drinking at one of the tables. Two, no, three tables, pushed together.

It looks cozy, all of them huddled closely together on the chairs and benches surrounding the tables. Like a family, Eddie can’t help but think. It’s a thought he’s been having a lot lately. And he enjoys this little family that they made for themselves amongst the team.

THE SOUNDS OF CHRISTMAS

There’s still place on the bench right next to Buck. Eddie exhales in relief when he notices. Buck’s talking to Karen and Chimney but his eyes move through the room when he isn’t talking. Eddie doesn’t think they’re searching for something in particular but still, they lock onto Eddie’s as soon as they find them. Buck’s face breaks into a wide smile and he waves Eddie over to sit next to him. As if Eddie would choose to sit anywhere else.

He slides into the free seat and gets their group's attention as soon as they realize that Buck’s focus has shifted away from their conversation.

Chimney exclaims: “The lost son has returned!” the table erupting in laughter. It’s too much attention for the way Eddie is feeling today but Buck is still smiling at him, making it a lot more bearable.

“You came just in time. Athena and Hen are taking the stage to sing.”

Eddie lets his eyes wander across the room, taking note of the karaoke set up on the stage where, as Chimney said, Athena and Hen are picking up the microphones and getting ready to sing.

The music starts to come out of the speakers and it only takes Eddie a few seconds to recognize it.

“Is that ‘Feliz Navidad’ ?”

Buck laughs, letting his head fall onto Eddie’s shoulder. “Just wait what the others have chosen,” he murmurs in Eddie’s ear, careful that no one else hears it.

“So bad?” Eddie can’t help the smile that spreads over his lips. He finds that Athena’s and Hen’s singing voices might actually be good if they weren’t spending most of the time trying not to laugh. It’s lifting Eddie’s mood considerably seeing the two of them goofing off on stage.

“Not bad, just… you’ll see what I mean.” Buck nudges him with his leg. “You wanna order something in the meantime?”

Eddie looks over to where Chris is sitting with the other kids and takes note of the full glass already in front of him.

It seems nothing escapes Buck’s notice because he’s following Eddie’s line of sight and sighs, nudging him again. “Relax, they know not to serve the kids any alcohol.” He smiles. “Besides, he’s a responsible boy, he’ll probably only order soda the whole evening.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

Buck laughs again. “We’ll make him sing a few songs at the karaoke machine and once you leave you won’t even notice his sugar high anymore.”

Eddie pretends to weigh the pros and cons of it but figures he can allow Chris an evening of way too sugary beverages.

Buck reaches for the menu and sets it down in front of him. While Eddie is sifting through the options, the last few notes play and Athena and Hen are leaving the stage. They are greeted by cheers and whoops from their group, accompanied by a few laughs, most of all Hen herself. There’s the sound of rustling of coats and scarves and bags all around and Eddie thinks it’s too much to be just from the two of them sitting back down. Looking up, he manages to catch Maddie grabbing Chimney’s hand on their way to the other end of the bar.

“Another one of ours?” Eddie directs towards Buck who only chuckles.

Eddie contemplates if Buck is already tipsy or if he’s just happy today. He hopes it’s the latter and not all of it is due to selfish reasons like liking the sound of his laugh.

Eddie doesn’t expect anything but a pretty good performance of the two of them after what he’s heard from Buck’s retellings but still, the performance blows him away. Their love and coordination translate directly to how their voices work together and harmonize. It’s obvious that they have some practice.

The song on the other hand…

“It’s very cliché,” Eddie admits just as Chimney’s belting “but this year I’ll give it to someone special”.

“Isn’t it a breakup song though?”

Karen snorts.

“Don’t say that so loud,” Buck says, barely containing his grin, “and don’t tell them.”

Eddie motions zipping his lips.

“I thought it was about finding new love after a breakup,” Karen chimes in, “and that’s rather fitting, isn’t it?”

Buck points a finger at Karen like she’s made a good point. Which she has, Eddie must admit. It does seem rather fitting when you look at it that way.

THE SMELLS OF CHRISTMAS

He takes note of the menu that’s still in front of him. He’s skimming through the options again, just as clueless about what to get as he was before.

“What are you drinking?” he finally asks Buck.

“Oh, mulled wine,” Buck slides his mug over, “you can try some.”

Eddie lifts the mug. Long before it touches his lips, he’s already assaulted by the smell of cloves, orange, and cinnamon above the slightly acidic smell of wine. It smells good, and once he nips at it, it tastes just as well, but he knows he won’t drink any more of it.

“Oh, you need to drive,” Buck remembers, pulling the mug back. “Apparently the hot chocolate is not too bad here, if you want something festive.”

Eddie nods. “Sounds good.”

Just then, a waiter comes up to their table, leaving a few platters of food behind. It smells delicious, and Eddie’s thinking of getting something to eat too. But he’ll ask Chris about it first. For now, he merely catches the waiter before he leaves and asks him if he can order a drink.

Buck digs into his own plate, as do all those who have ordered food. It’s quieter once half of their table is eating, but the conversation is still lively and Eddie notices that he doesn’t mind any longer. They’re his family, and even if he arrived not feeling well, he enjoys their company enough to be in a slightly less foul mood.

THE TASTES OF CHRISTMAS

“You want some?” Buck asks and lifts his fork in Eddie’s direction.

It’s instinct, really, nothing he actively thinks about when he opens his mouth and bites into the brown mass sticking to Buck’s fork. The chocolate is melting on his tongue, sweet and soft. Eddie wants to ask for more until his brain catches up.

“Is that fudge?”

Buck grins.

“You eat fudge with a fork?”

Buck’s brows furrow in confusion and it’s cute. Eddie stifles a laugh.

He feels like Buck would follow this up with a remark of his own if the waiter hadn’t interrupted them by bringing Eddie’s mug. If he were at home he would’ve put more marshmallows than he got but it’s still enough to melt into the cocoa and alter the taste. There’s a hint of cinnamon too. After taking a few sips of his own, he dutifully slides it over to Buck. It’s only fair after Buck shared his own with him.

“Mhm,” Buck sighs, “it really is good.”

“Don’t finish my drink. Leave some for me.”

Buck turns to him with a twinkle in his eyes.

But Eddie doesn’t get to hear what he meant to say, for Chris appears on his other side with a question on his lips.

“I forgot my bag in the car.”

Ok, it’s not exactly a question, but Eddie still hears it loud and clear.

“I’ll get it for you, mijo,” he says, already reaching for his coat.

“I’m coming with you,” Buck joins in and sure enough, he follows Eddie when he excuses himself from the table and soon the two of them find themselves outside of the bar.

THE TOUCH OF CHRISTMAS

The air is still as cold as it was when they arrived earlier, sending a chill through Eddie despite the fact he's wearing a coat. It annoys him that he even has to wear one at all.

“You think we’ll have some snow this year?” he can’t help but ask.

Buck shrugs. “None that would stay on the ground.”

“Hm.” Eddie clicks his car keys. “Chris would love it anyway. And if it doesn’t stay on the ground, even better. That would be a rough shift.”

Buck laughs, leaning onto the top of the car door once Eddie opens it. “Can you imagine working somewhere up north like New York?”

"Work would be hell during winter,” Eddie agrees. He grabs Chris’ backpack from between the seats and goes to close the door again. The metal feels icy. He clicks his keys again before looking up at Buck expectantly. There’s something weird happening on Buck’s face, Eddie can tell.

“Are we missing another performance?” he asks instead, neither of them leaving their place.

At that, Buck comes alive again, scratching his neck. “I’m not sure. I lost track.”

“Did you sing already?”

“Why?” A dangerous glint appears in Buck’s eyes, “you wanna sing with me?”

“No,” Eddie laughs, “I’d rather leave with my dignity still intact.”

“Come on, Eddie. We’re gonna sing ‘Baby it’s cold outside’ and you can let out all your frustration over the cold weather.”

Eddie levels him with a glare but he feels that he doesn’t quite mean it. And Buck knows it if the grin on his face is any indication.

“I’m not frustrated with the cold weather,” Eddie deflects, “and that’s not what that song is about.”

Buck smirks. “So what song would you rather we sing? ‘Driving home for Christmas'? ‘Santa Baby’? But we’re not singing the ‘Santa Buddy’ version.”

“Oh God no,” Eddie groans, “none of them. What about ‘All I want for Christmas is You’?”

Buck gapes at him. “That’s your choice?”

Eddie shrugs.

“I thought ‘Baby it’s cold outside’ was too romantic for you, and you’re choosing ‘All I want for Christmas is You’?”

Eddie smiles. “I don’t mind.”

He starts to move back towards the bar but when Buck doesn’t seem to follow him, he grabs Buck’s hand. It’s cold, and Eddie might be frustrated with the cold weather after all. But this time Buck follows him back inside.

#buddie fic #buddie #911 fic #911 fox #911 fox fic #911 on fox #911 on fox fic #evan buck buckley #evan buckley #eddie diaz #fluff #fire fam #sif writes #fic

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thewriterey · 4 years

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If You Hadn’t Gone (Stucky x Reader)

Hi! I wrote this for my friend @larkboyd, sole provider of Stucky on my dashboard.

Uhhhhhh I’m not really in this fandom, but I can relate to feeling a lill crappy and just wanting to be sandwiched between two beefcakes. Besides, I had a dream a couple of nights ago about these specific men for some reason (seriously, like I said, I’m not even IN THE FANDOM. How does this even happen???). Steve was making nachos for me and Bucky was just slow dancing with me in the kitchen. So. That’s all this little ficlet is, really. Idk. Also I’ve never written in this perspective, I just DON’T KNOW WHY I DO THE THINGS I DO ANYMORE OKAY. Anyway.

Title is a line translated from a song they play in the movie y tu mamá también because !!! that dance scene, amiright?

Hope you enjoy c:

Words: 1318, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandom: Captain America / Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: All Ages

Warnings: None, pure fluff

Categories: M/M/F

Characters: You, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes

Relationships: Established Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes, You/Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes

Additional Tags: bad breakup with an unnamed asshole, hurt/comfort, fluff, domestic au, beginning of an m/m/f relationship, (but idk that’s not really clear and mostly just in my head, I might never write another word for this again, just wanted to put this out there)

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You’ve never been one to cry over a man. It hasn’t happened once in the past. Sure, previous break-ups were awful, but you’d always known these men weren’t permanent. Besides, you have always been perfectly happy when you were on your own.

This time, however, it feels like someone has punched you in the stomach and won’t quit twisting their fist around. You really thought he’d be the one, he had been talking about engagement not three days ago. It hurts something fierce, and all you can really do is sob uncontrollably.

At first, the best idea seemed to be to just get a tub of chocolate ice-cream and order some take-out, but the weather was getting colder and although autumn was usually one of your favourite seasons this time the rain and the wind outside made you feel all sorts of cold.

I just don’t want to be alone tonight.

It’s the one phrase that’s on repeat in your head. But the task of reaching out to one of your friends and ask them to come over seemed impossible to complete today.

The only solution seems to be to curl up on the sofa and put on a random show on Netflix that you’ll only half watch between bouts of wondering where it all went wrong and why you feel the way you feel right now.

A loud noise startles you. Someone is knocking at the window. Confused, you look up and try to find a clock. It’s just about 7 PM, it’s getting dark outside. The screen of the TV asks if you’re still watching, as if it’s aware that you’ve cried yourself to sleep a few hours prior.

You huff and by pressing a singular button on the remote your turn the TV with its mocking message off.

Leave me alone, I don’t need your judgment, too, stupid piece of garbage.

Then there is another knock at the window. It must be the food delivery guy. You quickly wipe away the tears from your eyes and take a deep breath. Five seconds of human interaction will be tough, but so are you and you can definitely handle that.

When you open the door, you remember you didn’t actually order any food yet.

It’s not the pizza delivery guy you thought it would be. It’s your friend, Steve. He smiles at you, as you stand there, dumbfounded.

What is he doing here?

“Hey, you didn’t show for dinner and didn’t respond to mine or Bucky’s texts, are you alright?”

Shit. Friday night. Movie night. How could you forget?

Five seconds have passed, and you’re not certain you can manage any more of this human interaction without crying again. The look on his face shifts as he can see you’re struggling.

“What happened? Are you alright?”

He steps into your personal space and wraps his arms around you, as you bury your face in his shirt and start crying.

“He broke up with me, Steve,” you manage to say. “Last week he was talking about engagement and now he never wants to see me again.”

He ushers you inside and closes the door behind him, saving you from the cold outside.

“Shhhhhh,” he says, whilst softly stroking your back. You stand there for a while. He keeps making shushing noises, keeps softly petting your back, until you calm down a little. You feel a bit embarrassed for crying in front of him, but also realise that if you would feel comfortable with crying in front of anyone, it would be him. He never judges you, he’s always right there when you need him, and he always manages to make you smile. Although that might seem like too much of a task even for him, today.

“Have you had anything to eat yet?” he asks.

“No,” you say.

“Then I’m calling Bucky and we’ll make you something, is that alright?”

Right. Because then there’s yet another person to see you cry and be miserable.

But as you feel his arms wrapped around your torso, you realise that at this point in time, being alone would be worse. And of all the people you consider your friends, Bucky and Steve are probably the people you feel the most at ease with.

“Yeah, that’s alright,” you say, feeling very small. “I’m just. I’m going to cry a lot though.”

Steve laughs. It’s more of a low rumble, coming from deep inside his chest. “That’s perfectly alright, cry as much as you want. We’ll be here.”

When you exit the bathroom, you can hear music coming from the kitchen. Bucky has arrived, then.

The shower has done you good. The hot water is always able to soothe any aches and pains, and it seems that holds true for heartaches. As you look at your closet, you can see a yellow summer dress hanging on the rack, just barely peeking around the corner.

Summer is over, and there hadn’t been an occasion to wear it. But the house is warm and the dress looks comfortable enough, and besides, dressing up always makes you feel better. It isn’t a hard decision to make.

When you enter the kitchen, the first thing you hear is an appreciative whistle. You start blushing, but have no time to really feel embarrassed about it, as Bucky wraps his arms around you in a big bear hug.

“You look lovely, sweetheart,” he says. You wrap your arms around him a little tighter. If you linger a little longer in his hug to hide the deep blush on your face, that’s between you and yourself.

“What are you making?” you ask, when you finally let go of the loving embrace of your friend.

“Steve is making nachos, and he isn’t allowing me anywhere near them,” Bucky says, sounding a little disgruntled.

“Hey, who burned them last time? I’m doing us all a favour.”

“Come on, that was one time.”

“Who burns nachos? It’s like, the easiest food to make. Period.”

Bucky rolls his eyes at you and makes a mocking face at Steve. You can’t help yourself and you have to hide a giggle behind your hands. Bucky’s eyes light up and he smiles at you brilliantly.

“Guess I’ll need to find something else to do in the meantime, then,” Bucky says.

The song changes, and all of a sudden the air turns soft, the music sounds sweeter. Before you know it, you feel Bucky clasp your hand in his as he wraps his other arm around your waist. There is no time to protest, and frankly, you’re not so sure that you even want to fight it.

He sways you slowly from the left to the right, following the rhythm of the music, as he hums along with the melody. Steve turns around for a moment, then smiles, and turns back to grating the cheese.

In hindsight, you’re really glad Steve showed up when he did. Asking for help can be terrifying, but when it is offered freely it is much easier to accept. And if an hour ago someone would have told you that you would be laughing right now, you would have declared them mad.

Steve finishes grating the cheese and puts the nachos in the oven. He wipes his hands on the tea towel and walks towards the two of you, dancing. Before you know it he, too, has wrapped his arms around you from behind, and tentatively places his hands on Bucky’s hips, as he leans his head on your shoulder and moves along with the music.

You can’t bring yourself to look into Bucky’s eyes anymore, but that’s alright. The air smells like nachos with molten cheese, the sounds in the air are peaceful and calm, and the arms wrapped around you feel amazingly warm.

In spite of everything that has happened today, you realise that right now, you are happy.

--- the end.

#stucky #captain america #my writing #reader insert #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #domestic au #ficlet

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asterythm · 4 years

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some thoughts on virgil’s name, post-SVS2.

(+ bonus orange side ponderations, because of course the sides that i’m thinking the hardest about right now are the ones who didn’t appear even a single time in the entire video.)

okay anyway when i'm in a place where i've got my thoughts sorted and can be coherent i might organize this a little better, but for now can i just -- hgnmg. can i just.

i think i saw a theory post a while ago about virgil having had a different name before he joined the Core Four? and at the time i didn't really give it much thought, but i mean... now we have jan-us and rem-us, right? and suddenly so much room has opened up for theorizing.

now as much as i'd looooove to spend hours upon hours deconstructing the symbolism and history of every single -us name that's ever been created, i do also have pages upon pages of homework that i pushed aside to watch this video (hey, i'm just taking leisure time) so i'm just going to very briefly touch on a quick little idea, if you'll bear with me here.

lazarus.

this name means “God is my helper”, but that’s neither here nor there -- the thing that made this one really stick out to me is its Biblical history.

as we know, thomas is a devoted Catholic, and in the Bible, i can think of at least two highly notable instances of Lazaruses (plural):

the first is a famous miracle involving Lazarus of Bethany being brought back to life after four days of death, and

the second is the parable of Lazarus and the rich man, in which the poor man Lazarus sat outside a temple and begged for charity from the rich man until the day he died. upon death, Lazarus was raised up to sit in the lap of God, whereas the rich man’s own pride and greed created a sort of self-formed hell where he continued to try to order around Lazarus, ignorant of his own sorry state.

in both these instances, we get a story of overcoming “darkness” to reach a place of light and life -- in the case of Lazarus of Bethany, it’s literally coming to life. i dunno, i just feel like it’s a very, very nice parallel to virgil’s character arc.

i was also originally going to propose “odysseus” for another character name but then i started actually thinking and uh. if i may be so bold, i think i might have galaxy brained regarding the orange side. i’ll slide that under the cut though.

in the meantime, before i dive too deep into the Orange Zone, just a quick disclaimer: i don’t honestly have any emotional attachment to this theory whatsoever. odds are, i’m thinking way, way, way too deep, because that’s just what we do in this fandom. but even if somehow it turns out to be true that virgil’s name was once Not Virgil, i don’t think that i’m ever going to start calling him anything else. virgil is virgil is virgil -- that’s the name that he chose for himself, that’s the name he identifies with, and that’s sure as heck what i have come to know and love him by. this is all just speculation!!

aight, you hit read more, which means you’re ready to be taken to the orange zone. let’s get crackin’. while i was on the hunt for -us names for our resident raccoon man, i stumbled across the name odysseus.

i have a lot of thoughts and not enough time to write ‘em all, so let me just lightning-round this stuff here:

the dark sides so far seem to be following a pattern of “see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil”, what with remus muffling all sound before his appearance and literally tearing his ears off + janus forcibly covering the mouths of the other sides to prevent them from talking about his existence.

i’ve been thinking for a while, then, that the orange side will probably have something to do with eyesight -- i talked more about that here. the name odysseus would be in keeping with this, considering that one of the most famous stories from the odyssey involves the blinding of a cyclops.

i think that we’ve already seen the orange side, just not... physically. i think he’s been here all along, and he’s been in effect “corrupting” the other sides, in instances like logan getting mad and throwing the ball of paper in LNTAO (and hitting roman in the eye) and basically the entirety of WDWGOOBITM.

oh yeah, also, “odysseus” literally translates to “wrathful”. wrath has been a really popular headcanon for the orange side for a while. just sayin’.

i could swear i had more thoughts but my head is so so scrambled right now and i desperately need to go finish my homework, so actually, that’s all i got. i would absolutely love to hear your thoughts, though?

general tag list: @surleytemple @starryfirefliesbloggo @icecoldparadise @lyditist @fandom-random2405 @beach-fan @ihateitwhenyourejustvague @starryeyedhomicide @unring-this-bell @flix-net @pheonix-inside @thelowlysatsuma @residentanchor @sanderstalker @kazykazu @theres-no-winning-on-christmas

#ts virgil #virgil sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides theory #orange side #ts janus #ts remus #long post #spec speaks #ts spoilers #sanders sides spoilers #last post for tonight fellas and thats a promise

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moveslikebuckywrites · 4 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Slow Dancing

Gift Fics again! This time for @ladyoutlier set to Earth Angel! Aziraphale has a bad day, but Crowley is there to cheer him up. I wanted to write some fluffy softness as a balm for that 1992 script today. I’m so glad we live in the good timeline xD

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Today had not been kind to Aziraphale. Not in the slightest bit.

He had a meeting around noon with a local rare book dealer about a particular first edition he’d been seeking for quite a while. They’d agreed to meet at a cafe local to the dealer at 3 on the dot. Aziraphale, being ever punctual, had arrived at 2:30. Nothing wrong with having a spot of cocoa and a scone while he waited; and he was always on the lookout for new places to drag Crowley to. He made it inside just a few minutes before the rain started outside.

Things had gone off the rails almost immediately. The hot cocoa was made with hot water , thin and tasteless, with a dollop of whipped cream from a can floating sadly in the center. But Aziraphale was always an optimist, and he suffered through it, for the sake of the baristas. He didn’t want to inconvenience them.

He’d gotten a cranberry orange scone, and it hadn’t been much better. Far too crumbly, he could barely pick it up without it falling apart. And the ratio of scone to fruit was ridiculous. He counted two cranberries in the entire scone, and he was pretty sure whoever made it had forgotten the orange entirely.

He was silently seething as the clock struck three, the book dealer still nowhere in sight. He decided to take a look at the papers in the meantime, but the only ones left in the shop were from two weeks prior. He thought to himself that beggars were the last ones to be choosers and read the same stories he already knew about, contemplating one of those ‘smart phones’ Crowley was always trying to get him to buy.

By the time 3:30 rolled around, he’d read the paper cover to cover at least three times. He folded it and tossed it on the table, with his barely-drunk cocoa and hardly-touched scone. Aziraphale hadn’t brought a book with him this time; his tendency to get absorbed wasn’t always appreciated in these meetings, and he didn’t want to be off-putting to this new potential source. It had been so long since he’d found a new dealer to work with, and the older ones were starting to dwindle in their offerings anyway. He settled for people watching, and throwing a few minor miracles around to those passing who needed them.

By 4:30 he decided the dealer would be a no-show, and resigned himself to the long walk back to the bookshop. The rain, at least, had let up by this point. He hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella, and that would’ve just made things worse.

At five he was about a block away from the bookshop, ready to be home with Crowley and forget about this entire day and fruitless endeavors, when a lorry slammed through a puddle on the road, splashing him from head to toe. He stopped in place and heaved a sigh, this day just wouldn’t let him off the hook.

It should be noted that even the best of us are susceptible to a bad day. Even angels and even demons. Aziraphale has weathered his fair share of them - you don’t live on Earth for six thousand years without encountering a few. This particular day paled in comparison to most of the ones he’d had, but sometimes even the kindest, nicest, and most put-together people will succumb to a string of innocuous bad events and sink into what is professionally known as a “funk”.

This is the state we find Aziraphale in as he returns to the bookshop. Dejected, soaking wet, and downright depressed. He unlocks the door, snapping his fingers quickly to rid himself of the water. It wouldn’t do to drip all over the floors, the old wood wouldn’t take kindly to it. Despite this, he still feels chilled to the bone and a bit damp. Drying miracles never quite manage to get all of the water out.

He climbs the stairs to their tiny shared flat on the second floor. It’s small, but it’s home, and it’s just enough for them. Before he gets to the second step he can already smell it. Tomatoes, basil, garlic, mushrooms. Crowley must be making pasta tonight. Aziraphale loves it when Crowley cooks for him. He’s been learning, which had surprised Aziraphale at first. A Crowley completely free from the confines of head office had turned out to be quite the romantic. Candlelit dinners, lots of sweet nothings, and the clingiest cuddle-bug that Aziraphale had ever known (and he had known Wilde and been drunk with him).

The smell only gets stronger as he climbs the stairs, lifting his spirits ever so slightly. But the weight of the day is still heavy on his shoulders as he opens the door to the flat.

“Angel, that you?” he hears Crowley call out from the kitchen. Some kind of bebop is playing on the little radio there by the sink. Something about Sunday’s and wasted years.

“Yes; was a bit of a mess, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale says as he hangs his coat on the little angel wing hook by the door. (Crowley had thought it quite hilarious right after moving in. The other hook, currently holding a very flash black suit jacket, is a devil tail.) He slips his shoes off and puts them on the rack, turning to see Crowley leaning on the door frame of their little kitchen-slash-dining room, tea towel slung over his shoulder, bright red hair up in a messy half bun

“Deal didn’t go through then?” Crowley says, brows laced with concern. He knows how Aziraphale gets, especially by now. It’s been years since that fateful August day when they stood side by side on an old airstrip and faced down the forces of Heaven and Hell with a scrappy group of humans.

Crowley crosses over and wraps his arms around Aziraphale, placing a kiss into his hairline, “do I need to find the scumbag and stage a little demonic intervention?”

Aziraphale manages a slight chuckle as he nuzzles his face into Crowley’s neck. “No, I don’t think so, dearest. The dealer never showed.”

“The scumbag,” Crowley says with absolutely zero bite behind it, “I’ll curse him myself.”

“None of that, foul fiend.” Aziraphale says with infinite fondness. It’s been a long time since either of them have done anything truly in line with their respective sides.

Crowley absently runs a hand soothingly up and down the angel’s back. “Still, something else is on your mind, I can always tell.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Aziraphale sighs, “just several bad things all piling together.”

“Well,” Crowley pulls back and kisses Aziraphale quickly on the nose, “you’re not allowed to be sad because I made pasta, and you love pasta, and you love me.” Crowley rests his forehead against Aziraphale’s, touching their noses together. The intimacy of the action still takes Aziraphale’s breath away to this day.

Crowley kisses him quickly, then turns and makes his way back to the kitchen. Aziraphale follows close behind, sinking into one of the tiny bistro chairs of the little dining set they managed to fit into the corner. The rain has started back up outside, and Aziraphale leans his chin on his hand to stare out the window at it for a little bit.

Aziraphale doesn’t think he has a right to be this sad; everyone has bad days and he’s had much worse than this. Lots of their neighbors around Soho have had a worse day than he has, he can’t hear their prayers persay, but he can feel the general shape of their hopes and fears. And yet, he just can’t shake it.

A sharp yelp from the oven startles Aziraphale out of his thoughts. Crowley’s burned himself on the pan for the garlic bread, like he always does. He watches Crowley move around the kitchen, so steady and self-assured. Falling into domesticity has been so easy, so natural. Almost like breathing. Crowley keeps swaying to the music on his radio, testing noodles and stirring sauce. He stares down the sauce and adds just a pinch more garlic powder to it, before giving it a stir and tasting it. “Angel, I’ve done it again!” He says as he punches the air. They both know he’ll hardly eat any of it, but he relishes being able to do this for Aziraphale

“That’s lovely dearest,” Aziraphale says with his chin still in his hand.

Crowley smiles at him, tossing the towel back over his shoulder as he swaggers over to the table, “what is it, dove, like what you see?”

“You know I always do, darling.” He smiles at Crowley as the demon takes both of his hands.

“Still feeling down, Angel?” Aziraphale just nods at him. “Well that won’t do, c’mon, up you get.” He pulls Aziraphale to his feet before shooting a glare at the radio. The bebop playing cuts out abruptly and switches to a very smooth piano beat.

Crowley winks at him, “dance with me, love?”

“Crowley what on Earth?” Aziraphale rolls his eyes and does his best to suppress the smile attempting to creep across his face, “you know I can only dance the gavotte.”

“No gavotte here, Angel, just swaying in the kitchen.” Crowley guides Aziraphale’s hand to his shoulder before gently placing his own on the small of the angel’s back. He presses their cheeks together and starts to sing along softly with the man on the radio.

“Earth angel, earth angel, will you be mine? My darling dear, love you all the time. I’m just a fool, a fool in love with you.”

They sway back and forth, as far as the tiny kitchen will allow. Aziraphale can feel his nerves and anxieties calming; safe here in his demon’s arms. They sway and they spin, and he giggles as Crowley keeps singing to him.

“Earth angel, earth angel, the one I adore. Love you forever and ever more. I’m just a fool, a fool in love with you.”

“Crowley, dear, you’re such a hopeless romantic sometimes.” Aziraphale places a tender kiss to the little snake tattoo by Crowley’s ear.

“Not hopeless if I got you in the end, Angel,” Crowley says, nuzzling into the angel’s cheek before nuzzling into the angel’s cheek. “I fell for you and I knew the vision of your loveliness.”

Crowley grips his hand tightly before spinning him around and bringing him back even closer.

“I hope and I pray that someday I’ll be the vision of your happiness.”

“Oh my dearest,” Aziraphale says, resting his head on Crowley’s shoulder, breathing deeply, perfectly at peace, “you always have been.” They sway slowly from side to side, not really dancing anymore so much as just existing.

Aziraphale feels the stresses of the day melting away from him, safe and content in Crowley’s arms. Where he was always meant to be. As the song fades out they hold each other close, pasta miraculously fine still sitting on the stove waiting for this moment to end (it wouldn’t dare burn, not when Crowley is in the room). The final notes of the song drift through the air as Aziraphale leans up to whisper into Crowley’s ear, “I’m just a fool, a fool in love with you.”

#my fic #good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #have some domestic fluff for your Tuesday evening reading pleasure

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elcorhamletlive · 4 years

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fandom: Marvel Ultimates ship: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark tags: Alternate Universe - Non-Powered, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling, Comfort from nightmares summary: “You should rest. I… I have a quite comfortable couch, you know.”

Steve widened his eyes. “No,” he replied harshly, so blunt that Stark seemed taken aback, which somehow prompted him to add, a little lighter, “There’s no need.”

“You can’t sleep on the floor, darling,” Stark argued. The nickname, as always, fueled fire in Steve’s chest, and he wanted to run away and also to fight Stark at the same time. “Come on. I owe you.”

After waking up in a frenzy from a nightmare, Steve ends up locking himself out of his apartment. His hallway neighbor offers some help.

Steve rested his back against the door. His body was shaking, and his knees bent against his will – so frail now, so broken -, making him slip to the ground. He shut his eyes forcefully, inhaling sharply even as he felt no air reaching his lungs.

Get yourself together, he thought, unable to move. Get up.

He didn’t, though. He was still shivering, and he forced himself to try another breath.

It was only then that he realized he was locked outside.

He cursed, fist pushing back to slam against the door in a way he would never admit how painful it felt. God fucking damn it, he thought, with only the slightest spark of guilt at the blasphemy. What the hell was wrong with him? Those things weren’t supposed to happen anymore.

It had been just a dream. Just a stupid dream, and…

He shouldn’t still be dreaming of it. So much time had passed.

It was the email’s fault, Steve knew. All this time – nearly a year without speaking – and Bucky chose to send him an email.

The goal was, in Bucky’s words, to catch up. He and Gail were doing fine, the email said, but they – Jesus fucking Christ – missed Steve. They wanted to know how he was doing – was he still working at Fury’s? – and they hoped he was doing well.

Bucky was, as he said in the email’s last line, worried about him.

Steve’s fist slammed against the door again. Rationally, he imagined Bucky didn’t mean for the message to sound as it did – leaking pity – but he couldn’t help but imagine: the two of them in that big house, holding each other, chatting about their routine, when Steve’s name came up, and a look of sadness crossed their faces, and maybe Gail said darling, maybe you should…

This time, a creaking noise followed the slam of his hand. The pain was good – it kept him grounded, white sparks dissolving the picture of Bucky and Gail, though only temporarily.

A voice took him out of his momentary pleasure. “…Darling? Are you okay?”

The endearment made Steve widen his eyes, even though he should have known, right off the bat, who it was.

And, sure enough, there was Stark, standing across the hallway, tilting his head towards Steve as if he was actually worried.

Steve hurried to straighten his back. His hand reached back, searching for support from the wall as he struggled to get back to his feet, because – of fucking course – his cane had stayed in his bedroom, abandoned when he jolted awake and ran outside like a lunatic.

“Do you need help?” Stark asked.

“I’m fine,” Steve hissed, finally managing to clumsily get himself to stand up. God, he hated that cane. Hated having to use it, and, more than anything, how helpless he became without it.

Only then, he realized he had probably woken Stark up.

He stared ahead. Stark was wearing a dark red robe that didn’t seem fit for anything other than going to bed, at least in Steve’s opinion. Though, God knew Stark wasn’t a stranger to going out in inappropriate or revealing clothes, so maybe he could be heading out – it was only his unusually messy hair that convinced Steve that the man had probably been sleeping.

Steve blinked. That was a little unusual. Stark was rarely at home in the middle of the night, spending most of his time at trashy, decadent parties. Well—Steve had never been to one of them, so that was mostly his own guess, but it was a reasonable one, considering the companions Stark seemed to take to his apartment every other night. They would leave in the morning, nearly bumping onto Steve as they hurried towards the elevator, men and women with red eyes and clothing that seemed to be worth more than Steve’s rent, even if it didn’t cover much skin at all.

“You don’t seem fine, darling,” Stark drawled, and Steve was startled by his clear, sober voice– another rarity. “If you don’t mind me saying.”

Steve gritted his teeth. “Just leave it.”

Stark didn’t move. Instead, he studied Steve with those impossible to read blue eyes of his.

His eyelashes were obscenely long for a man, Steve thought, distantly, his face heating. The thought angered him slightly, as if Stark had somehow forced him to think it.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” he said, and Steve opened his mouth to argue, but he was interrupted by a loud meowing sound coming from Stark’s apartment. “Oh, shush, you. As if you don’t already know it’s him.”

Stark’s cat ignored him, sliding under his legs to peek at Steve behind Stark’s calf. He seemed to want to move closer, but Stark stayed firm, a barrier between him and the door.

It was a wise choice. The cat escaped the apartment enough already – Steve had lost count of how many times he came across the furry thing in the hallway, or even, once, down the fire escape stairs.

It was the only reason he'd talked to Stark in the first place. After the third time he found the cat wandering around, Steve had marched to the apartment and nearly slammed down the door, ready to rip his neighbor a new one, because if you chose to have a pet, then you'd better be responsible and take care of the damn thing.

Stark had opened the door, the strong smell of alcohol immediately following him, squinting his eyes at Steve as Steve ranted at him furiously. Stark just stared, as if he couldn’t quite make sense of him. Then his gaze lowered to find the cat in Steve’s arms, and his face had brightened in a smile, and he thanked Steve profusely, calling him darling.

“Are you locked outside?” Stark asked, tilting his head.

Steve clenched his jaw. He wanted to deny it, but it would be too obvious a lie, and he didn’t want to give Stark a reason to keep prodding. “Yeah,” he grunted. “But it’s fine. I’ll—I’ll call a locksmith.”

Stark raised an eyebrow. “It’s almost two a.m., sweetheart.”

Steve wanted to punch him. “I know that,” he said, attempting to put his hands in his pockets only to remember he was wearing his old, ratty pajama pants. God, what a picture he must have painted for Stark’s eyes – the crippled neighbor who couldn’t even remember to grab his keys when he left the house. “I’ll call one in the morning.”

“And in the meantime, what will you do? Sleep in the hallway?” Stark asked. Sobriety made his voice sound warmer, Steve noticed. There was no trace of the sharp sarcasm he could have sometimes, when he was slurring out words. “You should rest. I… I have a quite comfortable couch, you know.”

Steve widened his eyes. “No,” he replied harshly, so blunt that Stark seemed taken aback, which somehow prompted him to add, a little lighter, “There’s no need.”

The words startled Steve a bit, even though rationally, he knew it made sense. He had run into Stark in the hallway so many times – locked out, or too wasted to get himself inside his own apartment – and he couldn’t just leave him there. Stark’s behavior was abhorrent, but nobody deserved that, or at least Steve thought so - and so he had allowed Stark to sleep on his couch a few times, and dragged him back to his own apartment when he couldn’t do it on his own. Holding Stark’s head when he was throwing up his guts in the toilet was far from Steve’s idea of a pleasant evening, but, well, someone had to do it. And it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do, anyway.

Steve took a steadying breath. He felt foolish – now that he was actually starting to calm down, his reaction to a simple bad dream seemed nothing short of pathetic. The images of the dream dissolved slowly, fading like old pictures, and all that was left was a strong, almost overwhelming sense of embarrassment.

He desperately wanted to get inside and forget about that ridiculous show he had given Stark in the middle of the night. But, of course, he couldn’t.

“Anthony will be so happy to have you around,” Stark insisted. Steve rolled his eyes – he vehemently refused to refer to Stark’s cat as anything else. “Please. I’ll give you fluffy pillows.”

Steve’s mouth curled, and he wanted to tell Stark he didn’t want any damn pillows, but…

God, was he tired. He worked a double shift at the store during the day, which was already mentally exhausting without taking into account that he had insisted on helping a few customers to the car with their bags, which had been a strain in his back. It was almost like a betrayal, that a bad dream had caught up to him in a night where he should’ve slept like a baby from sheer exhaustion, and now Steve yearned to get back to his bed and continue where the nightmare forced him to leave off.

Besides, Stark was right. He did owe him.

“Fine,” he said then, regretting instantly when Stark smiled at him, stirring up Steve’s stomach.

Stark stepped aside, gesturing for Steve to follow him, and as Steve set foot inside the apartment, his face heated. He looked down both sides of the hallway to make sure no one had caught him in the act.

What act? he forced himself to think, as he followed Stark to the living room. He wasn’t doing anything inappropriate.

But he knew how that would look, from the outside. That was Stark’s usual M.O., wasn’t it? With all those men he brought home – men who carried themselves differently, poised as if they were important people, passing by Steve in the hallway as if he was a stain on the wall. Stark would look at them and smile that leering smile, call them darling, tilt his head and…

Steve shook his head, trying to focus on the living room instead. Stark’s apartment was roomier than his, decorated with extravagant art pieces that hurt Steve’s eyeballs. There was cat hair everywhere, a testament to his lack of cleaning skills.

“Here.” Stark set up a pillow at one end of the couch, unraveling a blanket right over it. “Do you need anything else? A glass of water, maybe?”

Steve’s mouth did feel dry, but he decided he could stand it. “No,” he said. Then, he forced himself to mutter, “Thanks.”

Stark smiled, slow and knowing. “Anytime, darling.”

Steve clenched his hands into fists. He would never get used to Stark’s penchant for pet names. In his life, the only other person who had ever called him darling had been Gail.

That had been before, though. Before Steve had been drafted.

Before he… stayed behind.

The memory sent a shiver down his spine. Not wanting Stark to notice he was distraught, he turned quickly to the couch, hurrying to lie down.

The pillow was comfortable – so much more comfortable than Steve’s cheap, old futon. Steve wondered if Stark had picked it from his bed and immediately decided he shouldn’t think about that. He turned to the couch’s cushion, his back to Stark.

“Okay, then,” Stark said, and his voice was like honey, dripping with sweetness and a silky undertone that crawled under Steve’s shirt and made his breath feel short. “I’m going to bed now. Goodnight.” He turned off the lights, and the darkness seemed cold in contrast to his voice. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

I won’t, Steve thought, way too forceful for his own liking. He shut his eyes, not wanting to deal with the darkness around him. Even though Stark wasn’t looking at him – was going to his bedroom, if the distance in the sound of his steps was any indication - he felt exposed, as if he had been humiliated.

He doesn’t know why you locked yourself out, he thought, and it was true.

But Steve knew. He knew what he saw, what he heard. He shouldn’t have been having this dream, not anymore, but he did, and he had woken up in a jolt, trembling, desperate to get away, to run…

And ran he had. Right into Tony Stark’s couch.

Steve took a deep breath, trying to stop his flow of thoughts. He still had work in the morning, he reminded himself. He should try to catch at least a couple hours of sleep.

A soft meowing sound announced Stark’s cat’s presence. Steve felt as it climbed next to him, curling in a warm ball next to his thighs.

He smiled reluctantly. Maybe he should push it away, but, just for now, the contact was comforting.

He woke up screaming.

The realization dawned on him only as Stark turned on the lights, and Steve couldn’t breathe, his gaze unfocused, chest heaving as he tried to calm himself down, to grasp onto reality, it’s okay, it’s over, you came back.

Steve’s hands hurt, and he realized he was clutching his elbows, embracing himself as he sat up on Stark’s couch. He had felt it all over again – the pain, the fear, the excruciating heat – and although his eyes were open, it was as if his body hadn’t fully emerged yet, as if it was permanently trapped in the dream.

“Steve?” Stark called, and it vaguely occurred to Steve it was probably not the first time he'd done that. “Darling, breathe.”

Steve shuddered as he inhaled, his body starting to catch up to his newfound consciousness. He was shivering, a drop of cold sweat crossing his temple, and amidst it all he still found it within himself to feel ashamed, because apparently running away from his own apartment wasn’t enough , no, he had to give Stark a show, had to make him witness first-hand how weak he was.

“I—” He meant to say I’m fine, but the words didn’t come out.

A loud, high-pitched noise made him jolt, and Stark scowled at something behind his shoulder. “Stop that, for God’s sake,” he chastised, and he actually sounded mad, which Steve had never seen before.

The cat meowed again, in defiance.

“Leave it,” Steve said when Stark attempted to shoo the cat away. He was still shaky, but he was slowly growing a little steadier, his mind grabbing onto details of the world around him to remind him that was where he was now, and not there. Not anymore.

Stark shifted, his body hovering over Steve in a way that made him feel strangely warm. He landed a hand on Steve’s shoulder, a light, hesitant touch. “Take a long breath, darling.” Steve obeyed, and Stark’s thumb drew an arch on his shoulder, sending a light shiver down Steve’s spine. Steve couldn’t help but look at it, and Stark immediately removed his hand, as if it had been burned. “Sorry,” he said, standing up. Steve had the insane impulse to ask him to come back. “I’ll get you a glass of water. Try to focus on breathing.”

Steve nodded, blinking slowly. His heart was pounding heavily, and his head hurt, a steady ache beginning to climb over his neck, as it had been beaten by a hammer.

He forced himself to inhale deeply, his mind a whirlwind of thought. Was that all because of Bucky’s email? Was a single message enough to send him in such a miserable spiral of memories, even after all this time?

He shut his eyes. Then, after a moment, he felt the couch shifting as Stark sat next to him.

“Here,” he said. Steve opened his eyes, and Stark raised a glass of water to his lips. The side of his body touched Steve’s, and Steve should have pushed him away, he should, but the contact was steady and comforting and he felt too weak to do that. So instead he drank, taking long sips, only now realizing how dry his mouth was. “There you go.” Stark smiled, his eyes dark blue in the soft lighting, and that smile broke something inside Steve’s chest, something aching and scary and that, coming to think of it, was probably long broken already. “It’s over now. It’s okay.”

The words curled around Steve like a blanket. Not “it was only a dream.” It’s over now.

He finished drinking, taking the glass from Stark’s hand to take the final sip. The cold water helped to wake him up, like a breath of fresh air into his lungs.

He lowered the glass, focusing on inhaling and exhaling. At some point, he felt the warm, light touch of the cat rubbing its head against his calf.

“He adores you,” Stark said, sounding amused. Then, in a whisper Steve couldn’t be sure he wasn’t imagining, he added, “I can hardly blame him.”

Steve told himself he was definitely imagining it.

“I--” he stuttered. He meant to say everything was alright, to tell Stark to go to sleep, but he couldn’t make the words come out.

Focus, he thought. Inhale. Exhale.

“They thought I was dead,” he said instead, and although he knew he shouldn’t, saying it felt good, as if a weight was being removed from his back. “In—In Iraq. They—they thought I couldn’t have survived. My whole unit—”

Stark nodded, wordlessly. Steve was thankful he didn’t have to complete the sentence.

“There was an explosion,” he said. His memory of it was fuzzy, twisting and growing distorted under the enveloping, overwhelming memory of the after.

Everyone thought he was dead. Hell, he should have been. It had been a miracle he made his way back to the base, nearly a corpse, after almost five months lost. The sole survivor of a lost unit – and for what? There was nothing left for him at home, as he soon would find out.

“I had a fiancé,” he said. Why he was telling Stark all this, he didn’t know. But Stark didn’t seem to mind, nodding without any confusion, as if Steve’s words were making perfect sense. “She didn’t—” She didn’t wait, he was going to say, but how fair was that, really? How long had Steve expected her to wait for a dead man? “She moved on.”

Bucky had attempted to talk to him, afterwards. He tried harder than Gail did. She only talked to Steve about it once, and though she apologized, when he asked if it would have been different if he came back sooner, she didn’t respond.

Stark didn’t say anything, and the silence stretched long enough for Steve to feel embarrassed. He parted his lips to speak, but then Stark’s hand hovered over him.

“May I?” he asked, and Steve was confused enough that he just nodded without thinking, and then Stark’s hand stroked his hair, brushing it back with long, calloused fingers. Steve’s face heated, but the touch loosened his muscles, the gentleness so foreign his eyes stung. He didn’t remember how long it had been since the last time someone had touched him like this, or at all.

Stark’s mouth curled as if he was fighting back a smile. His eyes sparkled with something Steve didn’t understand, and he continued caressing Steve’s hair, his hand descending down the side of Steve’s face to tuck a strand of it behind his ear.

“Steve, darling?” he asked, and for a moment he sounded so hesitant Steve couldn’t help but frown. He had never seen Stark seem hesitant about anything. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but… Would you like to sleep in bed with me?”

Steve blinked, momentarily too shocked for words. A rush of blood climbed over his neck, and although the suggestion was—was absurd, he couldn’t help but imagine how it would feel to have Stark even closer – to feel the silky touch of his skin, the weight of his arm, the raspy sound of his breath.

“It’s a king-sized bed,” Stark added, quickly. “I’d stay in the opposite corner, you wouldn’t even know I was there. Four people could sleep on it like babies.” Steve widened his eyes, unable to stop himself from wondering if Stark knew that from first-hand experience. “Hell, I’ll build a pillow barrier between us if you want to. Or, or you can take the bed, and I’ll stay on the floor – hardly a first, for me.” He tilted his head, eyes shining with concern even as his voice lightened. “I just don’t think you should stay alone tonight.”

It was the honesty in his tone that threw Steve off. There was no trace of the occasional flirty demeanor Stark could show at times. Instead, he seemed sincerely worried, and Steve didn’t know what to say. He was not used to having people worry about him. Maybe he should have rejected that – fight against seeming so weak Stark apparently didn’t think he’d manage to sleep alone – but he felt disarmed, caught off-guard by Stark’s kindness.

And he was so, so tired.

He swallowed, angry at himself for knowing what he would say, well-aware he’d regret it deeply by the morning. “Okay.”

The small agreement weighed on his chest as Stark’s eyes widened, and Steve wanted to take it back, suddenly terrified of what it meant. But what was he scared of, anyway? Certainly, he didn’t believe Stark would jump him in his sleep or something, right?

And why would he do that, exactly? A mean-spirited but reasonable voice echoed inside him. Stark clearly didn’t have trouble finding partners, and Steve had seen the type of men he usually brought home – a far cry from himself, definitely. Even if they slept together, what reason would he have to try anything?

A joke, that same voice supplied. Maybe he’d seduce you just to prove he could.

That didn’t seem impossible – it was certainly what motivated Stark’s casual flirtations towards him on a daily basis, anyway – but somehow it didn’t match with the sincerity of Stark’s offer, or the gentle concern in his eyes. It would be too cruel, too humiliating, for Stark to play with him right now, after everything that had already happened tonight. With a shock, Steve realized he didn’t believe Stark would be capable of that.

“Yeah?” Stark asked, and Steve was almost angry at him for doing so, because he didn’t want to have to agree one more time. He just wanted Stark to take his answer, hold his wrist, and—

And take you to bed? You know how this sounds, right?

“I already told you,” Steve grunted. Then, after a second, he added, “You don’t have to sleep on the floor.”

“Oh.” Stark blinked. He looked a little flabbergasted, and then swallowed, shaking his head. “Okay. Okay, uh—come with me, then, darling.”

Steve followed him. He barely paid attention in the bedroom, though; his eyes were immediately drawn to the huge bed in the middle, covered with layers of fancy, red bedding.

It was such a jarring sight, compared to Steve’s dirty, old futon, that his stomach twisted. Everything about the bed was decadent and so unlike himself that he couldn’t help but think Stark was likely regretting it as well, only now realizing how out of place Steve would look amongit.

“Here,” Stark said, pulling the covers on one of the sides to clear up space for Steve. He smoothed out the pillow with fast strokes.

His hands were big, Steve noticed. They moved with innate elegance, but there was an undeniable strength to them, and he was reminded of the fact that Stark did some mechanic work at times. Heat curled low in his belly, and he thought, What am I doing?

“Steve?” Stark called, and when Steve looked up, his light blue eyes seemed hesitant again, and Steve couldn’t find it in himself to ask him to sleep on the floor. It would not be fair, and deep down, Steve couldn’t bear the thought of trying to spend the night on that bed alone.

He hurried to climb up, his muscles stiff as he lay down on the mattress. His body sank, but Steve found that it wasn’t too soft, which was a bit of a relief.

He could feel Stark’s gaze on him as he settled in. Hurriedly, he pulled the covers up, not wanting to feel exposed.

“Are you going to just stand there?” he asked after a moment, unable to actually look and face Stark’s eyes. Still, his heart beat steadily in his chest as he heard Stark’s low, surprised chuckle.

“Not a terrible idea, I suppose, but no, darling, I won’t.” Stark’s voice sent shivers down Steve’s neck as he climbed onto the bed. Steve’s face warmed and his breath shortened, even though Stark hadn’t lied about the mattress’ size. Still - he couldn’t feel Stark’s body next to his at all, but he could imagine how it would feel, and that was somehow worse. “Everything okay?”

Steve took a deep breath, closing his eyes, and considered his question. His body was, against all odds, actually relaxing against the bed, and he could feel his eyelids getting a little heavier, the exhaustion of a terrible night finally hitting him.

“Yeah,” he muttered, and, although he kept his eyes closed, in his mind he could see Stark’s smile. It oddly made him want to smile back, and his mouth curled a little against his common sense.

“That’s… that’s great,” Stark said, and it was probably Steve’s imagination, but his voice sounded a little strangled. “I’ll turn the lights off, then, if it’s okay with you, darling. If… if you need anything, please, don’t hesitate to wake me up.”

Steve gave a stiff nod. Through his eyelids, he noticed when Stark turned off the lights, the darkness enveloping him.

“Goodnight,” Stark whispered, and his voice—it curled up around Steve like a rope, and he felt himself turning, wanting to come closer and yet frozen in place.

“G’night,” Steve grunted. In the dark, it was easy to remember the nightmares. They seemed more vivid, like actual danger.

He missed Stark’s eyes, and the touch of his hand on his hair.

His body moved almost without him noticing – and the keyword was almost, really, because he knew what he was doing, couldn’t pretend he didn’t, as tempting as it was to blame it all on Stark, on his gentle smile and his warm voice and his… eyes. No, he couldn’t do it, because at the end he was being drawn to the warmth of Stark’s body, approaching his side of the bed like a moth to a flame, and as aware of the risk as one would be.

“Steve?” Stark asked, when it was undeniable Steve was getting closer. “Is everything okay?”

Steve’s knees reached the back of Stark’s thighs, and Steve stopped both moving and breathing.

“I--” he tried, without a clue of how to justify himself. His face burned hot with shame— Stark had promised not to make things inappropriate, and, who would have known, he wasn’t the one who did. Steve shut his eyes and drew in a sharp breath, well aware of his humiliation, already waiting for Stark to turn on the lights. Maybe he’d laugh at Steve, or maybe pity would be written all over his face—Steve wasn’t sure of what would be worse. “’s cold,” he said, too surly for someone in his position, as if this was all Stark’s fault.

“Okay,” Stark replied, after a pause. Steve couldn’t imagine what he was thinking, and he found himself growing annoyed at his silence, wishing he could just put him out of his misery already. “Would you… Would you mind if I scooted a little closer?”

Yes, get the hell away from me, the proper answer echoed in Steve’s head, just as he actually opened his mouth to say, “No.” He swallowed. “It’s… fine.”

Stark moved a little closer, and then he stirred, turning towards Steve. In the dark, it was hard to see his face, but Steve could make some of his features, and just that already clutched his stomach, his heart rushing when he felt Stark’s breath brush his face.

“What if you turned around?” Stark whispered. Steve’s eyes widened. For a second he thought Stark would… But no – of course he wouldn’t, and Steve shouldn’t even think about that, because he’d push Stark away if he came any closer, wouldn’t he? And yet…

“You want me to leave?” he asked, hurt piercing through his chest like thorns. He blinked rapidly, schooling that pain into anger, because anger was better, was safer. “You asked me to—”

“No. No, darling,” Stark interrupted, light laughter in his voice, and Steve’s anger deflated. It was dangerous, how Stark could do this. “That’s the last thing I want you to do. I was just wondering if you’d want to turn around and then, maybe… I could come closer?”

Steve took a moment to understand. The thought of Stark’s body enveloped around him - his arm over his waist, his chest against his back – made him shudder. “You, you’d—”

“No one would see, you know,” Stark pointed out, right when Steve was thinking what a ridiculous picture they’d make, himself larger than Stark, being—being held as if he was a baby. “Well, maybe Anthony, but he coughs up fur balls – he’s hardly in a place to judge.” He paused, then added, his voice much softer, “I wouldn’t tell anyone. But, of course, it’s just an idea – only if you want to.”

Steve swallowed. It’d be ridiculous, it’d be wrong, but still yearning stretched in his chest, stubborn, growing more each time Steve tried to push it down. “Do you want to?”

Stark was silent for a moment, and Steve almost yelled at him, for leading him on, for playing such a fucking joke — “Yes, darling. I’d love to.”

Steve clenched his jaw. He turned, and then—

And then he felt when Stark’s body curled up around his—a warm, solid presence, unlike anything Steve had ever felt before. Stark’s arm was a light but undeniable weight over Steve’s waist, his hand lying almost over Steve’s belly, though never touching it. His knees found the back of his Steve’s thighs, and his breath brushed between Steve’s shoulder blades, and Steve’s back relaxed against his will, as if melting. His eyes were heavy, and his bones turned to dust, as if he was sinking, and Steve was shocked to realize he wanted it, wanted his body to melt against Stark’s shape, wanted it as he had never wanted anything else for a long, long time. For the first time in years, sinking in the dark didn’t seem scary.

Steve closed his eyes, a rebellious sigh leaving his lips without him meaning to.

“Everything okay?” Stark asked.

He asked that question a lot, Steve noticed. And he couldn’t bring himself to explain that yes, it was – everything was so much more than okay, and Steve’s heartbeat was steadying, and the images of the desert never seemed so distant.

“’s fine. Quit talking and go to sleep,” was what he ended up saying, and no one could have faulted Stark for losing his patience, but he didn’t. Instead, he chuckled—low, soft—a delicate sound, that Steve distantly thought he should do more often.

“As you wish, darling.”

Steve let the nickname wash over him, leaving warmth in its wake. He mouthed thank you in silence, unable to say it aloud, and felt something curling up next to his feet – Anthony, he thought, forgetting to feign distance from the cat in his mind, and he sank in Stark’s embrace a little further, emboldened by the dark.

Sleep came quickly, and, even before he dosed off, Steve knew this time he’d have nice dreams.

#stony #marvel ultimates #stony fic #happy steve bingo #stevetony #my fics

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laurelsofhighever · 4 years

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Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins Chapter Rating: Mature Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fereldan Civil War AU - No Blight, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Demisexuality, Cousland Feels, Hurt/Comfort Chapter Summary: Having arrived at Deerswall, plans are made for the push to Highever, but Rosslyn has a lot on her mind.

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Twenty-fifth day of Firstfall, 9:32 Dragon

“Something isn’t right.”

Alistair pulled his gaze from the vista before them. “What do you mean?”

Under a brief easing of the weather, the king’s army stood outside Deerswall, massed on the flat plain that had once fostered so many refugees. Rosslyn sat at the front with Alistair, Cailan, and the senior officers of their guards, wrapped up in furs to ward off the wind as they studied the high, closed gate of the fort and the eerie quiet of its walls. A pair of crows hopped across the top of the eastern watchtower by the gate, but nothing else moved.

“They’ve abandoned it,” she realised. “There’s no one here.”

“Would Howe give up such an advantage so easily?” Cailan asked.

“He knew we were coming. It’s probably part of some larger plan, snake that he is, but we’ll still be better off inside than out until we’re ready to move again.”

“Or maybe it’s more simple than that,” Alistair replied. “Maybe it’s an ambush and they’re waiting for us to get too close so they can poke us with a lot of arrows.”

She nodded slowly; she had considered it. “Gideon?”

“Ma’am?”

“What is the size of the garrison here?”

The old commander shifted in his saddle. “Scout reports put the number at forty to sixty swords – what was left of the Red Iron after Wythenshawe.”

“Mercenaries have horses,” she murmured, and pulled down the scarf that covered the lower half of her face. Icy air stung her nose but she breathed deeply nonetheless, and marked the claggy, stale odour of mud and water, without a hint of smoke or animal dung to taint it. Beneath their feet, a trail of hoofprints led away from the gate, with lumps of manure scattered here and there at least three days old. The emptiness reminded her of Harrowhill, the cold, the quiet, even the blank walls fluttering with the Orange and White of the hated Bear. She turned from the banners with a curl of her lip, aware of the army at her back and Lasan’s nervous shift beneath her. Back then she had trembled, a lost girl stripped of everything she had ever known.

“Should we go up and knock?” Alistair asked, to fill the silence.

“That’s not a bad idea.”

“Wait –” His hand shot out as she slipped from the saddle. “I didn’t mean to actually do it!”

“We need to know for sure if there’s anyone in that fort,” she replied easily, unslinging her shield from the saddle and buckling Talon to her waist.

“Then let someone else go.” He had dropped to the ground beside her, stepping around the groom that had come to take their horses’ reins. “Cailan –”

“You think I’ve the power to persuade her from this?” The king shook his head. “I trust Her Ladyship’s judgement, and her skill.”

“I’ll be careful.”

But Alistair moved closer, heedless of the ranks watching them, and laid a hand over hers. “We talked about this,” he murmured. “You – taking risks.”

“Would you have me send one of my soldiers to do something I wouldn’t be willing to do myself?” she asked.

“The problem is, you’re entirely too willing.” He attempted a smile. “The first sign of anything –”

“I’ll come back,” she promised, and squeezed his fingers. “Just try and stop me.”

She felt his eyes bore into her back as she started across the open ground with her standard bearer at her heels. Howe’s forces had been busy in the months left to themselves, bolstered the defences with stone bracing at the base of the palisade, and set a ditch in front of the main gate. They had even built a bridge over the lumpy, half frozen sludge at the bottom, though the only thing left of it now was a charred skeleton of pilings and planks doused by the rain before the fire could fully take them. It made a great delaying tactic.

Mud sucked at their boots. Their progress was slow, hampered by the search for caltrops under their feet and movement in the crenelations above, and as they crossed the invisible line that put them within arrowshot of the walls, Rosslyn raised her shield just a little bit, ready in case Alistair’s worry proved true. The moat stopped her reaching the whole distance to the gate, so instead she stopped at the lip of the bank and planted her feet as if she were exactly where she wanted to be, waiting for her standard bearer to raise the Laurels at her back.

No sign from the walls. The crowd stopped their preening to watch as Maddow opened his mouth to speak.

“Hail to Her Ladyship Teyrna Rosslyn Cousland, Falcon of Highever, Commander in the North, right hand of His Majesty King Cailan Theirin, true and just ruler of Ferelden, defeater of the traitor Loghain and the snivelling polecat Howe who waits on him!”

Rosslyn’s brow quirked. “Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you?”

“I thought we were trying to bait them, ma’am.” He shot her a grin, which only widened when she rolled her eyes and nodded for him to continue.

“Enemies of His Majesty! You are called on to surrender yourselves, this fortress, and its environs immediately to the grace of Her Ladyship, or else it is decreed to a one you will suffer a most painful death!”

Unimpressed, the crows resumed their business and let the last echoes of the challenge rebound off the palisade, but nothing else moved. Rosslyn counted to ten, and when no arrows came streaking from behind the walls, let go of the breath she had been holding and half-turned back towards her lines, a grin wild and triumphant across her face.

“What do you think?” she called to them. “Should I blow a raspberry?”

A chorus of jeers answered her, meant for the ears of whatever forces might be hiding behind the gate, and when even that met only silence, she nodded, once, and gestured for Maddow to follow her back to the ranks, where Gideon was already waiting.

“I want to be in there by nightfall,” she ordered. “The ground looks solid enough to put a bridge in, so get the carpenters to work on it – utility only, no flourishes. It needs to get everybody across and hold up until we leave. In the meantime, sweep the whole place for traps and anyone that might be hiding, groups of three at the least so alarms can be raised.”

“Aye, Your Ladyship.” The commander bowed, and turned to bark orders to the unit of scouts already waiting for orders, leaving her free to return to Alistair’s side.

“And now we wait?” he checked.

She huffed and went to loosen the girth strap on Lasan’s saddle. “And now we wait. It’s surprising how much of that there is in battle.”

“I see.”

“What’s that look for?”

“Uh…”

With a cough and a quick glance to make sure all attention was elsewhere, he sidled up next to her, settling his hand on the small of her back to keep their conversation close enough that no one could overhear. The touch barely reached her through all her layers of metal and cloth, but its tenderness, the clarity of his gaze, sent a lick of heat shooting along her limbs nonetheless, and she had to turn her face into her horse’s flank to avoid being overcome. She could see Loren and Franderel in the distance, guiding their horses over from the wing, but still too far away to trouble them yet.

“I’ve never seen you command like that,” Alistair said, with the slightest tinge of pink at the tips of his ears. “Not even at Lothering – when you swooped in and saved me, remember?”

“Does it bother you?” She had grown up hearing comparisons between herself and the more elegant ladies of the court, the ones like Anora who kept to their arms training as a formality only and never tried to go to war.

His touch rose to the back of her neck, playing with the loose strands that had fallen out of her braid. “I wouldn’t say it bothers me, at least not in a bad way. It just makes me wonder what you would have been like raising horses on the coast – if you hadn’t had to deal with all this.”

“Would I have met you, then?” she asked.

“Of course,” he answered, and brushed his lips against her forehead. “Blight wolves couldn’t keep me from such beauty.”

A smirk lifted the corner of her mouth. “And you think a line like that would have worked on me?”

“Ohhhh you? No, I’d have better lines for you. Trust me.”

“Such as?”

“Well, let me think…”

“Your Highness, Your Ladyship!” Franderel reined his charger sharply to a halt and dismounted, with Loren not far behind. “I trust everything is going well?”

“Fine,” she replied, leaning back out of Alistair’s reach as if they hadn’t been interrupted. “We were just about to join His Majesty in his pavilion.”

Her vassal nodded, either oblivious or choosing to ignore it, and gestured towards where servants had already posted the War Dog standard and offloaded the tent canvas from its supply cart. “Shall we, then? It will be good to finalise the details of our campaign to the north, even if we may have to face the prospect of getting underway before we can fully claim Deerswall.”

“Why don’t we keep the doom and gloom until after lunch?” Alistair made the suggestion with a smile, but he kept close to her side, gaze narrowed at the elderly bann.

“Of course, Your Highness.”

“His Majesty has sent outriders to establish a perimeter,” Loren offered, interposing between them, “so if we are forced to stay outside the walls tonight, we won’t be caught unprepared.”

At a stalemate for the moment, they left their horses with the grooms and weaved through the ranks of soldiers being kept busy with menial tasks while the carpenters and the advance worked on the bridge and on clearing out the keep. Others still had been sent into the surrounding forest for firewood, and on the few cookfires already established here and there, the rest lined up for their midday meal. It would likely be nothing more than thin meat stew bulked out with vegetables and hard bread, but on such a cold day with damp nipping at the fingers, it would provide welcome warmth for a few hours, and the smell was already rising through the camp.

“How are your lands coping with the refugees, my lord?” Rosslyn asked Franderel, to distract from the cavernous feel of her stomach.

“Many moved on to the west where fighting was less likely to spread, Your Ladyship,” the bann replied, falling into step beside her. “Those who stayed have been a mixed blessing – extra mouths, but also extra hands to help with the harvest. And extra eyes to watch the northern border for trouble.”

She nodded. “Highever will not forget the generosity shown to its people.”

“West Hill is only glad to offer assistance when called upon. And…” He allowed a smile. “I am also relieved to see our worst fears turn to smoke. I knew your father, fought with him. It seems you’ve inherited his talents.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

She decided not to push the issue, despite her suspicion over his apparent sincerity, and only nodded her acknowledgement as Cailan waved them over to the table he had set up by the supplies, already in attendance with Teagan, Knight-Captain Irminric and a bevy of servants swirling around them. He had decided to forego the entire pavilion, choosing optimism instead, and had directed the servants to pitch only a windbreak and a roof over his map table in case it rained. The openness of the arrangement allowed a view across the entire camp, with Deerswall as a backdrop and a fine detail of cartography splayed across the war table readable in the daylight.

“Ho!” the king called. “Are we on track?”

“That depends on what surprises the Red Iron left for us,” Rosslyn answered.

“Tch, cowards. Although in fairness, I doubt I would dare brave the Falcon’s wrath waiting inside a wooden fortress!” He greeted the others and ushered them around the table. “In an ideal world, the keep is perfectly safe, and we will be in it in time for a decent night’s rest, which means we will have limited time in the morning to prepare for anything but an immediate departure. As you can imagine, if the rumours of the queen’s presence at Castle Cousland prove true, we must reach it – and take it – as soon as possible. Since we can do nothing further to aid us in that for now, we should solidify our plans.”

Loren bowed. “We stand ready, Your Majesty.”

“Good. Now then, the spear of our attack will come from two fronts.” Cailan rearranged the maps to find one of the northern coast, which he smoothed out and weighted at the corners. “One group, led by Her Ladyship and Prince Alistair, will travel along the coast and infiltrate the castle to secure the queen and the gates ahead of the army’s arrival.”

“Castle Cousland’s walls are nigh unpassable,” Franderel scoffed. “And there can be no certainty that any within those walls are yet loyal to the Laurels. How many are you taking for this venture?”

“Enough,” Rosslyn replied. “Our strength will be my knowledge of the castle, rather than numbers. Without the help of a dragon to breach the curtain wall, the keep could never be taken in time to ensure Queen Anora’s safety.”

Cailan sighed. “There is no ideal solution to this, but no better. The second force will approach as if for a traditional siege, with as much fanfare as we can muster. This main force will be both diversion and bait to try and draw out Howe, and once we have him, Loghain will have nothing left behind which to hide. You have thoughts, my lord Loren?”

The bann startled out of his frown. “What of Loghain’s forces?”

“If this is a trap, then we will turn it against the trapper. We have surprise on our side. He will expect to face an army with nowhere to run, with a castle for his defence, when in fact, thanks to Her Ladyship’s actions, the opposite will be true.”

“I see.” Loren stroked a hand along his chin. “It might still be wise to send an advanced guard ahead, in case the teyrn is not where he is expected to be.”

“That’s unlikely,” Rosslyn interrupted. “Loghain is an experienced general, and for the first time, our forces outnumber his. He’ll want every advantage he can get, which means having Castle Cousland at his back.”

“Still,” Irminric reasoned, with a glance in her direction. “It would not hurt to be wary, if we could find a unit suitable for the task.”

“I would like to volunteer,” Loren said, and at Rosslyn’s blink of surprise, drew himself up. “I have spent months watching the border, hearing of your successes, and I wish for an end to this as wholeheartedly as any of you.”

“How will Your Majesty know if this… infiltration force has succeeded?” Franderel asked.

“We are due to meet in six days after Her Ladyship leaves for the coast,” Cailan replied. “Once Howe’s colours are struck from the tower, her party will open the gates to the rest of our forces, and we let our enemy beat itself to exhaustion against the walls.”

“Most of the mages will stay with that force. We expect the most casualties there, and if Her Ladyship does not manage to reach the gates it in time, they will make the greatest difference in fending off an attack. Given the lack of templars, they will need a guard.”

“Would my knights be suitable, Captain?” Teagan asked. A slight hesitation shook his voice, but he had adapted quickly to the idea of being Arl of Redcliffe in his brother’s place, with all that entailed.

“They will, my lord.”

The jangle of mail alerted them to the arrival of a messenger in blue, who bowed low, cheeks flushed pink as she started to speak.

“Your Ladyship, Guard-Commander Gideon said to inform you the bailey and upper battlements are clear for occupation, and the bridge will be completed to standard in an hour.”

“Thank you, corporal. Have units start to move across as soon as possible, and draft more people into the search of the keep to speed the clearance.” Rosslyn waited for the messenger to leave before turning back to her audience, her back straight and her voice steady. “One question remains before we set out. My volunteers are ready, but what about the ship we commissioned?”

“It’ll be waiting for you at Rothsbridge, Your Ladyship,” Franderel replied. “Supplied and ready, as per your order.”

“Good.”

Despite the mask of confidence, nerves jittered beneath the surface, turning her stomach and shortening her breath no matter how many times she forced her muscles to relax. The prospect of finally going home lurked at the back of her mind, pushed aside for as long as the council discussed troop placement and travel times, but every detail only added to the weight of reality pressing down on her, and would not be ignored forever. This was the campaign for Highever. The end she had wanted for so many months was suddenly in sight, real, complete with the very real consequences they would all suffer if she failed.

Even once darkness fell and the last of the army had squeezed through the gate, and the Amarathine banners were torn from the walls, her mind wandered, dwelled on what she might find, how little might remain. Without people to occupy them, most of the rooms on the private floor would have to be shut up, the furnishings covered with dust sheets to ward off damage. She would be expected to move into the big room at the front of the house that had always belonged to the teyrn, never mind the sea view in her own chambers, or the fact that she could never think of the big room without hearing her father’s jokes and her mother’s deep, rich laughter.

What had become of her parents’ things – the dressing sets and the lifetime of trinkets? Oren’s toys? How much of her whole life had been thrown aside, or melted down for coin to fund the ransacking of the rest of the teyrnir? The more she tried not to think about it, the more she dreaded having to walk the halls again, accompanied by nothing but draughts through ancient corridors, the echoes of her own solitary footsteps. The heat of battle forced her mind to other things, but once the war finished and everyone went back to their lives, what could she do?

She lay awake for an hour trying to get comfortable, trying to put it from her thoughts, until her patience snapped and she threw back the bedcovers hard enough that they half-buried Cuno. He opened one bleary eye, but she soothed him with a murmur and he stretched out with a doggy sigh that took him back to sleep. Nobody would bother her at such a late hour. She threw on shirt, breeches, and a gambeson for warmth, and headed to the stables.

Alistair would have to go to Denerim, to fulfil his duties as heir apparent. She scowled at her boots as she dwelled on the idea. It was one thing to have their affection for each other made public, but to live together without any formal arrangement between the two of them would cause scandal in the court. Anora would never allow it. And she would never ask him to shoulder such a burden.

The horses greeted her with soft snorts and sweet breaths. As she slipped into Lasan’s stall with a grooming kit on her arm, he turned to her with a low nicker that eased her worries away. Spending time with the large, graceful animals always calmed her, and after topping up her charger’s supply of hay and water and discarding her gambeson on a hook outside, she lost herself in in long strokes of the dandy brush, working from neck to haunch until even the thickest parts of his winter coat gleamed like marble. She spotted burrs in his tail and teased them out with a comb, then looked for anything else the grooms might have missed, details that might keep her mind focused just a little bit longer. She couldn’t take him with her, after all. Her mount for the morning run to Rothsbridge stood further down the line in the narrow barn allocated to the geldings of the messenger service.

A hoof stamped in the straw.

“I’ve overstayed my welcome, huh?” she asked, coming up to stroke her horse’s ears.

He pulled his head away from her, swishing his tail and giving a meaningful tug on his haynet.

“I see I’m dismissed.” She shook her head and left him with a final pat. “Don’t bully the hands too much while I’m gone.”

A rustle in the straw alerted her to another presence as she bolted the stall door.

“There you are.”

She smiled and turned, and found Alistair leaning against the post by the door. “I thought you’d be asleep.”

“You definitely aren’t,” he replied.

Whatever response she might have given died under the soft scrutiny of his gaze. He was already moving forward, reaching for her, warm and solid, a strong heartbeat to calm the tempo of hers.

“The plan will work,” he told her as her arms slipped around his neck.

“It’s not the plan,” she breathed. “It’s after.”

A sigh, the embrace tightening about her shoulders. “We’ll face it together.”

“I’m glad you’re going with me.”

He loosed a chuckle above her ear. “We both know you just need someone to carry the bags.”

She snorted, because he said it to make her laugh, but she pulled back nonetheless, just enough, and threaded her fingers into his hair. “That isn’t true.”

He searched her face. She nudged forward, drawing him down, until he leaned the last little distance and kissed her first, starting with a hand feathered along her jaw, the tiniest of steps to eliminate what little space remained between them.

“Is anyone else here?” he asked, without breaking away.

Unable to speak, she merely shook her head. The kiss deepened, they moved. Alistair’s hand stretched out to brace them both as her back met the wall, while hers roved, pulling him closer at waist and neck. The press of his body trapped her, all strength and safety like she had never known with anyone else, and when a groan tore from his throat with an involuntary stutter of his hips, she took it, and answered, and followed him when he turned his head to pause for air. For a moment they stood, sharing heavy breaths, unmoving save for the whisper of hands across cloth, the slight sway as their senses righted and reminded them of the ground beneath their feet.

“We, uh, never got to finish our conversation,” he managed, voice rough, fingers soft as rain as they slipped beneath the fabric of her shirt and wove delicate, distracting circles across her back. “I’ve been thinking about it – about what might have happened if we weren’t interrupted.”

She leaned into him, grinned as her touch on the back of his neck made him shudder. “So have I. What… what would you have said?”

“That…” He swallowed, untangling her fingers so he could take them in his. “I want you, and I’ve wondered – imagined – what it would be like for longer than is probably decent. And I want – I’m willing to wait, until the perfect time, the perfect place, until you’re ready, and it’s what you want.”

The words held a practiced air, as if he had rehearsed them, scanned them for any misinterpretation, and now he held himself before her, all brittle hope as he waited for a response. Rosslyn’s doubt all but bled away, her uncertainty not for what she wanted, but that the lack of wanting before might show itself in the moment, in other ways. She tightened her hold on his hand.

“You think it would be worth the wait?”

He sighed, disbelieving. “You’re worth everything already, but that… it would be special.”

A bright knot of tension coiled beneath her ribs, expanding around her heart until her breath stalled and her limbs shook, but in its suddenness the strength of her yearning defied mere words. Her silence drew his brows together, however, and the purse of his lips as his gaze dropped to their linked hands was unacceptable.

“I love you so much,” she told him at last, laying her free hand against his cheek. “I’m just… not sure how to explain it. I haven’t changed – what I am is the same, and my feelings for you don’t…” She stopped, biting down on a growl. “I don’t see you and desire you like I’ve heard other people say. But I feel you, and this isn’t close enough, and I want – I want to be with you for that. I want to touch you and never stop, I –” the words were tumbling out too rushed, an embarrassment buoyed by disbelief that such an admission was hers at all. And she was too easily distracted. Alistair’s spare hand still lay at her waist, still turning circles against her skin with the blunt edge of a nail. “I don’t want you to stop doing that.”

It took him a moment to work out what she meant. “You like that?”

“Mmhm.” Her eyes closed to better concentrate on the trail of his touch, but when she tilted forwards, he dodged the kiss and let his mouth run the length of her jaw instead, all the way to the pulse point at the top of her neck. There, he paused, the tip of his tongue flicking against her skin as he wet his lips.

“I want to learn every inch of you by heart.”

She realised her lungs had stopped working. A snide part of her wanted to deny the rush of heat through her limbs, the tingle low in her belly, as merely a reaction to the road ahead or some vain hope that this might finally be the cure to whatever ailment had left her cold all her life. Terror gripped her through that tiny instant of doubt, but Alistair stood ready to lead her away from the precipice. His eyes darkened to the rich, sweet hue of spiced mead as he looked at her, his fingers careful as they left her waist to play with the wispy hair at the back of her neck.

“Breathe,” he reminded her, with a fond twist to his usual cocksure grin. It faltered. “Would – what I said, is that alright?”

She caught his face again, her focus slipping to his mouth. “As long as you let me do the same with you,” she answered.

The shudder that ran through him wiped away any hesitation about claiming his lips again. He pushed her back into the wall as he opened to her, smirking at the noise the movement startled from her throat. Deliberately this time, the cover of his body rocked forward, a slow, cautious push against her hips. His head dropped to her shoulder.

“Is this alright?”

All she could manage was a strangled hum and a nod. She knew enough to recognise the long, hard line trapped between his body and hers, and thought of it made her stomach flutter. She kissed his neck, cradled his head in her palm. Every nerve sang like a plucked string. In the stalls around them, the horses shifted in their sleep, a small noise amplified by the darkness and the need for discretion.

She squeezed his arm. “Someone will find us here.”

“And we can’t have that.” He chuckled and dragged himself away, though his hands lingered. They followed invisible tracks along her sides, as if memorizing the shape of her ribs. “It must be getting late – we can’t stay here all night.”

Without losing each other, they wandered from the stable and paused at the trough to wash their hands of dust. A thin rime of ice lay like a skin over the water. Rosslyn threw her gambeson around her shoulders like a cape as she broke through with a bucket to fill the washing station, grateful for the extra layer and for Alistair’s warmth huddling next to her. He fished stray wisps of straw from her hair as he waited for his turn with the horsemaster’s caustic soap, and smiled at the way she blushed, which only encouraged the spread of heat across her face.

Nobody bothered them as they picked their way around the sea of canvas tents to the keep steps. The only movement came from the guards on the battlements, and without the light of either moon to lessen the darkness, the night closed around them like a curtain, allowing them the privacy that came so dearly in daylight. Tucked under Alistair’s shoulder, with his arm around her trying to stave off the chill leaking through her still-open gambeson, Rosslyn almost allowed herself to believe they were like any other couple, leaning into each other, stealing each moment as they found it, all but inseparable, and barely caring what the royal guards thought of them as they passed.

The highest floor of the keep had been set aside for the king and his closest companions, and it was deserted. They halted awkwardly as they came to Rosslyn’s door, limned by the low, harsh light of the storm lantern in the alcove opposite, and stood with hands still linked and eyes averted in a vain attempt to prolong the moment before they had to part. Her heart thumped a harsh rhythm in her ears, but before she could say anything, Alistair caught her chin and with the smallest hesitation leaned down to tilt a kiss against her mouth. She reacted instinctively, closed her eyes, stretched upwards to make it last. He stroked her face as he pulled away.

“Goodnight, my love.” His smile turned self-conscious. “Just think, the next time we’ll be sleeping in beds, we’ll be in Highever.”

“Alistair.” She kept hold of his fingers as she glanced to her door and back. She felt her mouth twitch in a brief, reassuring smile, but nerves quickly stole it away.

“You…” His glance mirrored hers, eyes wide. “When I said – down in the stable, I didn’t mean for any of what I said to pressure you.”

“I know.”

“And… you’re sure you want me to – to spend the night? With you?”

Every fibre of her body ached towards him, the feeling too strong for words. She loved him. She wanted to know what it was like.

“I was under the impression that it’s not the done thing to leave – after,” she tried, and winced when the nervous, joking tone fell flat. “I… we wouldn’t have to do anything, but regardless, I don’t know if I could sleep without you, not tonight.”

To her surprise, he giggled. “Woman, do you know how many nights I’ve had to bully myself into not knocking on your door because I thought you’d turn me away?”

“I won’t,” she promised. “I want this. If you do.” She barely had time to raise her eyes to his before he came crashing down to meet her once more.

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #dragon age origins #da:o #alistair theirin #alistair x cousland #cousland #rosslyn cousland #the falcon and the rose

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fangirlshrewt97 · 4 years

Text

Doctor Who (2005) Fic - The Goldilocks Vacation Conundrum

Title: The Goldilocks Vacation Conundrum

Author(s): Fangirlshrewt97

Fandom: Doctor Who (2005)

Pairing: None

Characters: Thirteenth Doctor, Yaz Khan, Ryan, Graham

Rating: General

Warnings: None

Banned Together Bingo Prompt: Alien Weatherman

Additional Tags: Crack-ish, Prompt: Alien Weatherman, Banned Together Bingo 2020, Humor, The Doctor does not know how to pick human appropriate vacation spots, Poor Graham keeps falling because of the Doctor’s poor TARDIS parking skills, Post Season 10

Summary: Essentially, a semi-crack-ish fic where the Doctor tries to suggest vacation spots to her companions, and misses the mark. Until she gets it right.

After all, third time is the charm.

Excerpt:

The Doctor swiped through a few more potential vacation spots, this time, Ryan joining them. There were several that caught the eyes of the crew, but each time that Graham asked for the dangers, there was always one.

Tentacle monsters, giant crabs, Multiple-headed monsters, noxious gas, acid-spitting monsters, poisonous fruits, monsters with giant horns, unfriendly natives, evil tyrannical rulers that were wary of tourists. What was with all the monsters, honestly?

By the end, Ryan and Yaz had joined back on the steps with the Doctor standing in front of them.

Link to A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25314952

///

The TARDIS fam were sitting on the steps next to the central console waiting for the Doctor to return. She had said she would only be a moment and for them to stay.

“I just need to grab this one thing from a friend, I’ll be back before you know it. No need for you to follow me!” she had said, bouncing around the console as the TARDIS landed on another planet, nearly sending Graham to the floor from the abrupt stop.

“But doc-” Graham had started to protest only for her to already be halfway out the door, coat in one hand, and an extremely long rainbow scarf in the other.

“Five minutes at most. Just wait here!” was all the humans heard before the door swung shut.

Graham sighed. “Well that is not going to happen.”

“Who wants to bet she will get stuck on an adventure?” Ryan had asked, mischievous glint in his eyes.

Yaz barked a laugh. “What kind of a naive idiot do you take me for Ryan? The bet should be the kind of adventure she goes on. My guess is tentacle monster.”

“You’re on, I think it is alien species that wants to conquer the planet.”

“Ohhhh, good one, damn I want to change my bet.”

“No way too late!”

“Graham, what about you?”

“I don’t know about the doctor, but personally, I am going for an adventure to the kitchen. I want tea.” Graham had said, waiving off the groans from the other two. He did press the pedal to get a creamy custard biscuit as he walked by though.

That had been almost four hours ago. In the meantime, Graham had had his tea and biscuits, finished his book, taken a small nap, and wound up back in the console room, playing poker with Yaz and Ryan. The younger two members of the ship had tried to venture out of the ship, only to find they were parked at the top of a very steep cliff with no houses or identifiable signs of civilization in sight. And rather than risking getting lost, had ventured back into the ship.

Graham was chuckling as he won the hand for the fifth time in the row, collecting the candy they were using as betting markers when the Doctor burst into the room, tracking mud throughout the entrance as loud bird screeching followed her. She quickly barricaded the door with the bar she kept next to the door and ventured inside.

“Well fam, sorry for the delay, but I see you kept yourselves entertained.”

“Say doc, have you ever actually run an errand where things didn’t go tits up?” Graham asked as he opened one of the mints from his winnings. From the corner of his eye, he saw Yaz passing some money to Ryan.

“I resent the implications Graham, I will have you know I have had plenty of successful errands where nothing went wrong.”

At the silence from the three humans, she looked up from she was fiddling with the console controls again. “I have!”

Graham scoffed as Yaz made an empathetic noise and Ryan rolled his eyes fondly.

“Sure you have Doctor.” Ryan said as he stood up.

The Doctor’s comeback was interrupted by a piercing cry and the distinct sound of claws (or talons) against wood.

“Whoopsie, looks like we have overstayed our welcome!” The Doctor said before pulling down the lever. The trio of humans just managed to brace themselves before the ship took off, shaking like a teacup during an earthquake.

After a couple more minutes, the wheezing sound faded as the ship managed to land somewhere.

“Hey Doctor, where are we?” Yaz as as she peered into one of the monitors on the console. It was still displaying that odd (but beautiful) circular writing the Doctor had called Gallifreyan, but she could also make out a landscape. It was a flat field, with what looked like medium height grasses (green), under a clear sky (purple, which weird but cool), and a scattering of trees that almost resembled pine trees but had normal leaves.

“Ah, thanks for asking Yaz! Welcome to Brosha, in the Aresa galaxy. I figured I owed you guys a proper vacation, and this place has the best food this side of the Andromeda galaxy made from corn. Well, it is actually eir but tastes very similar to Earth’s corn. Looks similar too!”

The three humans were not looking at her as impressed as she was hoping. Her smiled dimmed a bit. “No?”

Ryan answered. “Doctor, that is really nice of you, but none of us are really big fans of corn. Also you are hiding something from us.”

“No I am not.”

Yaz chuckled. “Yes you are. You have a tell.”

“I do not!”

“You do too!”

“I do not!”

“You do too!”

“I-”

Graham cut off the childish squabbling. Honestly one was an officer of the law, and the other was a two thousand year old alien. It was undignified. “Alright enough. Doc, this sounds nice, but what’s the catch?”

“There are, rarely, every once in a while, stampedes of these huge moose like things. But honestly the chances of that happening while we are there are-”

“Sky high. Doc, we tend to always be around for the once in a blue moon situations. How about elsewhere?” Yaz said gently.

The Doctor pouted, but turned and fiddled with her monitor before brightening.

“Oh, I got one. What about Brakem in the Uccas galaxy? Hot springs filled with healing crystals, soaps and scents from around the universe. Never really rains, two suns, three moons. Gorgeous orange skies.”

“And?” Ryan asked, a wicked smirk on his face.

“Doc, this would be easier if you just mentioned the catch too.” Graham added.

“Average temperatures outside of the resorts are about 40℃.”

No way in hell. Mainly cause it sounded to be about the same temperature. “Next option Doc.”

The Doctor whined but looked at her monitor again. Graham went to sit on the stairs, he had a feeling they’d be there for a while.

“Ok, fine. How about, um, no not that one, ooh that would be, no nevermind, oh! No.” The Doctor muttered as she swiped at her monitor. Yaz went to stand beside her, watching her flick past some amazing landscapes. One in particular caught her eye, and she must have a sound because the Doctor looked at her. “Yaz?”

“What’s that?”

“This one? This is Chebara.” On the screen was a massive lake, extending seemingly to the horizon. The sky was so purple, but so clear she could almost make out stars and other planets in the photo. To one side of the lake she could see a massive hill rising from the ground, clouds covering it from about midway. In the middle of the lake, giant trees that seemed to be floating?

“Are those trees floating?”

“Oh yes, they are Ubal trees, their fruits produce dyes that don’t fade even after a thousand years. Very valuable.” The Doctor explained, glee filling her eyes again.

“Is it safe?” Graham asked. He loved the Doctor, but safety somehow never made it into the woman’s priority list.

“Graham, where is the fun in that?” The Doctor asked, only to be met with a raised eyebrow that would not be swayed. She sighed. “There is a small chance we may encounter the giant alligator-hippos that inhabit the lake.”

“No.”

“But Yaz wants to go!” the Doctor protested.

“Actually Doctor, I think just the photos might be enough. We have had so many adventures, and I would really like a vacation before we head back to the fray.” Yaz said, apologetic.

The Doctor’s shoulders slumped. “Back to the drawing board then.”

By the end, Ryan and Yaz had joined back on the steps with the Doctor standing in front of them.

“Guys come on, I promise, the vacation will be fine, I’m sure the bad things won’t happen, they are all statistically very unlikely.”

Graham stood up and walked to the Doctor, laying a sympathetic hand on her forearm. “Doctor, I am sure you have noticed, but let me point it out again. We are kind of one-in-a-million central here. All I want is someplace to put my feet up, a nice cuppa, maybe a chance to tan.” Graham said. Beside him, Yaz and Ryan nodded in agreement.

The Doctor stood in front of the three humans, arms crossed, and cheeks puffed out like a squirrel. Yaz internally squealed at how adorable this couple thousand year old alien could be.

The Doctor tapped out a distracted pattern on her forearm before brightening. “I know the perfect place!” she said.

And then, without waiting for the companion’s response she went back to the console and pressed a few buttons before pulling the lever.

The TARDIS’s wheezing sound was heard before the ship rattled and transported. Graham, who had been standing on the stairs still fell hard on his butt. Ryan and Yaz managed to stumble forward and brace themselves on the console.

“Ow Doc, a couple more rough landings, and you are going to owe me a new hip!” Graham complained as he rubbed the small of his back. Ryan came to his side, helping his sit up against one of the columns around the console.

“Sorry about that Graham! I just thought of the perfect place for a lovely holiday, and wanted to get us there ASAP!”

Ryan and Yaz exchanged glances before looking at her hesitantly. “So…”

“Where are we?”

If possible, the Doctor’s grin got even wider, her eyes alight with delight. “My lovely fam, welcome to Earth, third planet in the solar system, in the outskirts of the Milky Way galaxy. We are in present day Sheffield, the temperature is a pleasant 23℃, there is a humidity of 65%, and chance of rain is 7%!” The Doctor said as she clapped her hands once in delight. Ryan shook his head at the antics of the Time Lord and began to chuckle.Yaz started to giggle before the Doctor waggled her eyebrows at her, at which point she burst out laughing, using the console edge to keep from falling over. Even Graham had a grin on his face as he continued to rub his back. He used the column to brace himself and got up.

“How long will we be staying then doc?”

The Doctor swayed back and forth on her toes and heels. “Up to you guys. How long do you want to stay?”

“Wait, you are staying too right?” Yaz said, squinting at the Time Lord.

The Doctor brought up her hands in surrender. “I’ve got a whole universe Yaz!”

“And I’ve got a spare room with your name on it. Come on, just stay. I know we don’t have crystal pools or floating trees, but Charlie’s pub down the block serves some of the best falafels in the country.”

The Doctor bit her lip, but looking at the hopeful faces of her companions, she gave a single nod.

“Alright, why not.”

She turned and pressed a couple buttons, dimming the lights of the main area of the TARDIS. “There, she is in hibernation. Let’s go enjoy Sheffield.”

With a cheer from the humans, the Doctor let herself be led outside by her fam. Yaz dragging her by the wrist as Ryan lightly pushed her from the back, with Graham closing the ship doors behind himself.

Sometimes, the best vacation from a life traveling was a little bit of home.

#doctor who #my fic #my writing #thirteenth doctor #yasmin khan #graham o'brien #ryan sinclair #doctor who fanfic #thirteenth doctor fanfic #bannedtogetherbingo2020 #bannedtogether2020 #prompt: alien weatherman #yasmin khan fanfic #graham o'brien fanfic #ryan sinclair fanfic #let me know what you think!

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