#but this exchange chilled me to my core | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

killergee · 2 months

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Hi, hi! First thing first, im in love with your hoshina x designer weapon reader! It's really warm my heart!! (I LOVE IT TO THE CORE HEHBFJSHDHC😭🫶🫶🫶 BLESS U)

Can i request you (this is kinda awkward) i want to see Highschool AU! For Hoshina x Reader. Kendo player! Hoshina x Archer! Reader👉👈 i would love to see them bantering each other (of if it's not Highschool AU! You can use the close range user! Bf x long range user! Gf thing!)

Thank you!

Ahhh my first request, how exciting! Sorry for posting so late. So many things have been happening lately. Also had to do some research and ended up watching tsurune LOL.

Here's a bunch of little stories of your life as Archer! Reader x Kendo! Hoshina.

Part 2 (one shot)

Synopsis: The club captains of the kendo and the kyudo (archery) club don't seem to get along. Or rather, that's how the club members see it.

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

"Oi, what do ya think you're doing? The kendo club's got this gym booked for today."

Toppled on top of each, the members of the kendo club huddled nervously outside the door to their gym. They could only take small peaks and glances from their place as they were all too scared to step foot inside.

All except one.

The Captain of the Kendo team, Hoshina, was the only one who dared to enter the gym. Standing tall with his arms crossed, he gave you a menacing glare.

Rising from your kneeling position, you exhaled a tired breath and put your training bow down. "Oh, sorry, I didn't see your name on the registrar, so I presumed the gym was empty and booked it." Despite the courteous words, your apology dripped of insincerity and a smidge of condescension. "Had you actually done your job correctly, this could've been avoided."

The members of your own club shifted awkwardly. Exchanging knowing glances, they braced themselves to watch their Captain go at it once again with the rival club Captain.

Hoshina lets out a scoff as he rolled his eyes at your attitude. He ignored your comment and continued on with his interrogration. "What are ya even doing here, ya can't shoot in here. Why aren't you in the kyudo hall?"

"It's under repair, and kyudo isn't only about shooting. I gotta teach the newbies the correct form before they can even touch a bow." You stated before offering a fake smile. "Why don't you go build your stamina with some laps? It's not good to slack on basic fitness."

"Shouldn't I be saying that to you? When's the last time ya used your legs?"

After a brief moment, Hoshina flashed his own small smile, although there was nothing friendly behind it. He leaned down until his face was a mere couple inches from yours. He knew you hated the height difference. That you hated the fact that there was something he had over you. Going by the tiniest twitch in your perfectly crafted smile, he knew he was right.

"Hey, give me the room, and I'll play nice and let you watch us practice. Maybe then you'll learn something of actual worth." He suggested, feeling a deep satisfaction at the slight clench of your fist.

"I don't understand the need to swing a big sword. Overcompensating for something?"

"Ah, and I suppose hitting a massive target from far away is much more impressive."

"Oh my, if you think a target that's only thirty-six centimeters is massive, then I'm definitely worried for you."

"Are dick jokes the only jokes you can make? Are you a child?"

"Sorry, did I hit too close to home?"

A vein popped on his cheek. He could never really get a handle on your snake-like tongue.

Everyone felt the heavy tension and chill in the air. The first years had trouble believing that the two people squabbling like children were their beloved Captains.

You were known for your kindness and elegance. But you knew when to be soft and when to push harder. Where you went, people's eyes would follow whether consciously or not. You were the most talented kyudo archer the school has ever seen and an equally good captain.

Hoshina was among the top strongest kendo player in the division. Diligent. Attentive. Trustworthy. His laidback attitude attracted a lot of people, but when his serious nature slipped through during matches—that's when it was impossible to take your eyes off of him.

You two rarely crossed paths, but when you did, it was a blood bath. You two brought out the worst in each other. Or maybe you simply brought out each other's competitive streak.

All the members of their respective club could only pray for the day the two of you stop bickering.

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

"I heard you guys passed the preliminaries," you said as you sat and watched him practice. It was late into the evening, and only the two of you were still in school. You had locked up the kyudo hall but saw how the lights were still on in the kendo dojo. Curiosity got the best of you, and you went to see who was still practicing.

"Congrats," you said quietly, barely audible to anyone around you.

"Oh, sorry, what was that? Awww, are ya congratulatin' me? I'm so honoured, oh, glorious captain." He jested back, pausing his activities against the training dummy. He stopped because he's had enough practice and shouldn't overexert himself. He definitely didn't stop because he wouldn't hear you against the sound of the strikes.

"Whatever, your opponents were shit anyways. It would've been harder for you to lose."

He lets out a low whistle at your words.

"Way to ruin the moment." He said, beginning to take off his armor. Placing his wooden sword at the stand, he peeled off his gloves.

Then, realization hit Hoshina, and he froze. The corner of his lip curled into a dangerous smirk as he turned to look at you.

"Wait, does that mean ya watched me compete?"

You flushed a pretty shade of pink and looked away from his amused eyes.

"Well, we're hosting the tournament this year, and I happened to pass by the dojo, so I just took a look."

"Right..." He chuckled. "Your preliminaries are tomorrow, right?"

You nod your head as you get up from your spot. The way you stretched your arms above your head reminded him of a cat.

"Yup, and we're gonna show you guys why we're number one in the division, unlike you guys who are only what again? Right, second."

"Hope you miss." He grunted in response. Though, despite the gruff words, Hoshina found that there wasn't actually any bite to his remarks nowadays. His once heated bitter words are now nothing more than poorly disguised teases.

At hearing your chuckle, he looked up at you, and his breath catches in his throat.

"Me? Miss?"

The look in your eyes was hypnotizing.

"Never."

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

Why others seemed to admire you was beyond Hoshina's understanding. You were immature, vain, cocky, rude, and knew exactly which buttons to push to annoy him. If people saw the side of you he got to see, they would run for the hills.

Walking from the main school building to the dojo, he heard the faint but recognizable sound of the kyudo bow releasing an arrow.

Ah, that's right. You should be playing right now.

He stopped in his place as he looked to the direction of the sound. He had to pass the kyudo hall anyway to get to the dojo, is what he told himself before he changed course to take the longer route to the dojo.

There was a crowd gathered around the hall by the time he made it there. Not wanting to be seen, he kept to the edges of the crowd but still in a good enough spot that he had a good view of the archers.

Hoshina thinks to himself that he'll only stay to watch your first shot as he watched you ceremoniously kneel with your bow and arrow.

However, he found himself stuck in his place as he watched your elegant and meticulous gestures. Like a moth to a flame, he couldn't tear his eyes away from your figure as you drew your bow. He didn't know much about kyudo, but he couldn't help but think that your draw was beautiful.

Everything about you screamed confidence and assurance. With the twang of the bow string, the arrow released and hit dead centre of the target.

Like always.

By the time he realized he's stayed longer than he should've, you had fired 5 shots. Not a single arrow missed the target.

The cocky smile that bloomed on your face as you lowered the bow and admired your work made his heart race.

Huh... so that's why so many people are head over heels for you.

He left before your team could celebrate the victory.

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

As the season continued, you two made it a habit to stay later than usual when practicing. Whoever would finish first would go to the other and watch or tell them to pack it up.

As captains in your last year, both of you needed to win your tournaments.

"Don't ya ever get tired? Or are the rumours true and you're actually a robot?" Hoshina said with his head resting on his bag as he sat and watched you.

"Only partly, actually," you quipped back before drawing another arrow. "One more shot."

"And how many times have ya said that?" He asked looking at your target filled with dozens of arrows. Unlike what he was used to seeing, a third of your shots were off target.

"Can't afford to miss. "

"Ya need to go home."

"No"

Hoshina rolled his eyes at your stubborness. "You think this is going to help ya? You're just burnin' yourself out."

Although you lowered your bow at that, your focus does not move away from your target. "We were one point away from not advancing to finals. I need to be perfect. My team is depending on me. I can't afford to drag my team down or disappoint them."

At one point in time, he'd have paid someone to bring you down a peg. Now, however, his heart twisted at seeing you doubting yourself.

"Listen, I know the pressure better than anyone else. This tournament is important to me too. But ya just need to have faith in the skills that you've built up over these years. You've earned the title of best kyudo player for a reason." He sat up straighter when you finally turned to look at him. Rubbing the back of his neck, he continued, "also, have faith in your team. They've worked hard and don't want to disappoint you either. Don't forget you're in a team, afterall."

You stared at him for a moment before giggling. Your giggle turned into a full-blown laugh at his pout.

"Now why's that so funny?"

"No, no," you managed to say as you try to collect your composure. "I just never imagined getting a pep talk from my arch nemesis."

A smile replaced Hoshina's pout. "I'm your arch nemesis?"

"Aren't I yours?" You jested back as you began putting away your equipment.

Were you? Arch nemesis wouldn't be the words he'd use to describe you. He didn't quite like the idea of you only being a rival to him.

His on the other hand. Now, that didn't sound too bad.

With your back turned to him, he called out to you, making you turn to him.

"Here."

You caught whatever he threw at you before it could hit you. Sitting in your palm was a key chain with a cat shaped charm, and beside it, an omamori charm with the embroidery "victory."

"Hasn't really been working on me, so you might as well try it," he said, looking rather bashful.

You let out another laugh at his actions. "Can't be owing you, here's mine," you said amused, removing the charm that hung on your bag and tossing it to him.

"It might give you my luck, but I doubt it'll be able to give you my amazing skills. So don't put too much pressure on it."

The charm was of a heart with an arrow through it and a wooden good-luck charm with the engraving "grind them to dust."

"How fitting," hoshina said outloud as he held the charm in his palm.

"Oh yea," you chuckled. "The statement is quite aggressive, but I thought it was funny"

"Hmmm? Oh yea, that too." Before you could even think twice about his statement, he closed his palm around the charm and gave you a determined look.

"Let's win this."

You couldn't help but smile. "That goes without saying."

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

Bonus:

"Hey, isn't that Hoshina's charm?" One of your club members asked curiously as they stretched on the ground. Although the rest of the members pretended they weren't listening in, they were dying to know why you had it. They were able to spot it right away when they saw it on your school bag. It was the charm that Hoshina kept on his bag for all the years they've known him. They also couldn't forget how the Kendo members were forced to stay after school to search for the charm when he lost it.

"Yeah," you responded matter of factly as you stood and watched them.

"Why? I thought you two hated each other?"

"Now, who ever told you that?" You responded slyly.

Their mouths hung open at your statement. Were you gaslighting them? Or were you just pretending you didn't pick a fight with Hoshina every chance you got.

"Oi, y/n hurry up. I'm hungry"

At the voice, they all snapped their heads to look at the owner of the charm himself. Leaning against the doorframe, he was in his school uniform with his bag tucked under his arm.

"Yea, yea, coming old man, don't be so pushy," you said, making your way towards him. When he turned to head out, the members saw your unforgettable charm hanging from his bag.

"You buying lunch this time or is it my turn?" They heard you say as the both of you walked by the window of the gym.

"Don't remember. Let's just say it's my turn. " Hoshina responded with what they think was a smile.

"What the fuck just happened."

#soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #y/n #self insert #kaiju no.8 fanfic #kaijuu 8 gou

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ineffable-suffering · 10 months

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Re: "You go too fast for me, Crowley", because I think I finally figured out the real meaning behind that line

Naturally, this line of all lines, the most line of them all, is constantly circling around my rotten brain like a moth around a flame.

In addition, though, there's always been another Good Omen's line/exchange that has kept bothering me again lately. And literally until just about five minutes ago, I had never thought of relating them back to each other.

Now, five minutes later, I have and I think I just ... figured it out.

In case you were wondering: The second line that wouldn't leave my head is what Aziraphale says to Crowley during their clandestine meeting at St. James' Park in 1862 when Crowley asks him for Holy Water:

A: "I'm not bringing you a suicide pill, Crowley!"

And here's what bugs me about this: Why did Aziraphale, without a breath of hesitation, immediately assume Crowley wanted the Holy Water to commit suicide if things ever went wrong?

That's ... such a dark assumption to make. Especially because that is absolutely not what Crowley wanted it for, as he literally says himself:

C: "That's not what I want it for, just insurance."

And what does Aziraphale reply?

A: "I'm not an idiot, Crowley!"

Because he firmly, firmly believes that Crowley is asking him to bring him the Holy Water as a foolproof method of taking his own life in case Heaven and Hell ever find out about them.

To this day, that conversation gives me chills whenever I think about it. We so rarely get see what genuine emotions and thoughts for and about Crowley Aziraphale keeps neatly tucked away behind that tightly buttoned waistcoat of his. This moment in 1862 is one of the very rare ones where his façade slips a little – and the peak we get isn't a fun one. It's a very dark, scared and vulnerable one.

What am I on about and how does this all relate to the infamous "You go too fast for me, Crowley"-line? Let's look at it under the cut.

(Word count: 2560 | Reading time: ~10 min. | TW: mentions of suicide)

Like I mentioned up above, it always struck me to my core that Aziraphale very clearly immediately assumes Crowley wants the Holy Water for possible suicide. Not only is that a very dark and upsetting thought, it also poses the question: Why? Why is that the first place Aziraphale's mind goes to?

Crowley says at the very beginning of their conversation:

C: "We have a lot in common, you and me."

He's definitely referring to their (very mutual) relationship Arrangement and the fact that they both find themselves kept apart and watched by their respective head offices, not allowing them to ever misstep and give themselves away.

After bickering around a little like they do, Crowley asks his favour – and he makes it very clear in a quiet and serious voice that:

C: "This is something else. [...] For if it all goes wrong."

He's not just talking about Heaven or Hell finding out about some silly frivolous miracles, no. He's talking about them finding out about their Arrangement, their relationship. The worst of all worst case scenarios.

So bad, in fact, that he doesn't even ask his favour out loud but instead decided to write it down.

Aziraphale's reaction is ... severe.

We immediately see his face drop as, he too, realizes that this is all of a sudden a very serious conversation indeed. And he immediately and vigorously denies Crowley's request because he thinks it to be one for a suicide pill.

To understand how he could arrive at that lightning-quick (and also wrong) conclusion, we have to try and understand how Aziraphale sees Crowley and the threat that the angel himself as well as their relationship poses to Crowley.

Crowley can, at times, be a very self-deprecating and cynical character. He's without a doubt carrying a lot of trauma and unspoken fears and emotions with him at all times. Aziraphale at this point in their relationship probably has a good notion of what those are – but he doesn't know the whole depth of it because they've never been able to speak freely enough and Crowley has seemingly decided to keep many-a things to himself, still. They both tread the waters of plausible deniability very well.

So, to jump to the conclusion of Crowley entertaining suicidal thoughts in the face of unavoidable danger is ... quite a violent jump. And remember: "[...] underneath it all, Crowley was an optimist. If there was one rock-hard certainty that had sustained him through the bad times then it was utter surety that the universe would look after him."

So, what is it that Aziraphale does know that would drive him to such a drastic conclusion when, in reality, secret optimist Crowley only ever wanted the Holy Water to protect himself against Hell to come out safe on the other end of things?

2500 BC, Land of Uz: A: "That [going along with Heaven/Hell as far as you can] sounds, um ..." C: "Lonely? Yeah." A: "But you said it wasn‘t." C: "I‘m a demon. I lied."

After Crowley helps Aziraphale out in Edinburgh in 1827, Crowley is immediately sucked back down to Hell We don't know what exactly happened after that or just how long Crowley was gone. We also don't know if Crowley ever told Aziraphale what happened, once he returned. What we and Aziraphale do know, is that Crowley ends up asking him for Holy Water, out of the blue, only a couple of decades later.

1601, The Globe: A: "But if Hell finds out [about the Arrangement], they won't just be angry. They'll destroy you." (additionally, later in time, C: "My lot does not send rude notes.")

Ergo: It's very clear that Aziraphale seems to have put two and two together with his own angel math by what he has a) witnessed himself and b) what Crowley has said himself which equals: In going against Hell, Crowley has felt incredibly lonely before he had Aziraphale by his side and if Heaven and Hell were to ever find out about them, Hell's punishment would be a whole lot worse than Heaven's.

He thinks Hell would destroy Crowley.

So when Crowley, who so rarely says how he really feels and one of the few times he did, told Aziraphale he was lonely, says he wants the Holy Water, the immediate conclusion Aziraphale comes to is: He wants it as an emergency exit. In case things go pear-shaped. He wants it to escape whatever dreadful punishment Hell would have in stock for such a lonely traitor. He wants it as a suicide pill.

For Aziraphale to not even entertain the thought or believe that Crowley does indeed only want the Holy Water as a means of self-defense is, again, absolutely heartbreaking. Because it tells us a thing or two just how scared and desperate Aziraphale thinks Crowley to be. Something along the lines of: "If I myself am already so immensely terrified of Hell's punishment for Crowley, how terrified must Crowley be."

I think a whole lot of this is also very, very strong projection and shows us how Aziraphale himself feels about all of it. How scared he is for himself and Crowley. Of what would be done to them.

A: „Out of the question! Do you know what trouble I'd be in if they knew I‘d been ... fraternizing?“

He knows they would both suffer immense consequences and that Crowley‘s still would be worse. If anything, in a dark and twisted way, it shows that Aziraphale himself has definitely entertained the idea of suicide as a concept, at least. Maybe not for himself or Crowley, yet, but remember, he‘s awfully fond of Shakespeare‘s Hamlet.

A: „To be or not to be? Buck up, Hamlet!“

Yeah, buck up indeed. (By the way, there's a great meta by @greenthena on why Aziraphale likes Hamlet so much that kind of plays into my point a little. You can read it here).

And again, who knows what Aziraphale might have actually witnessed of Hell's cruel ways already in the past (Edinburgh of 1827, or at other times) that made him arrive at the conclusion that, ultimately, suicide would be the less painful choice for Crowley when faced with Hell's consequence for their relationship.

I told you this was gonna take a bit of a darker turn. So, here we are. At the turn. It doesn't get much lighter from here on out, I'm afraid.

Because all of this gives "You go too fast for me, Crowley" a whole new devastating meaning.

Personally, I always found it a teensy bit difficult to relate that line back to Aziraphale implying that Crowley was trying to push their relationship a little too fast for him.

Deducing that as the meaning of "You goo to fast for me" after we were shown in the montage of S1E3 that Aziraphale, from circa 1941 on, was undoubtedly fully aware of just how madly in love he was with Crowley, has always felt odd to me. And it continued to feel even odder after we got the whole story of 1941 in S2.

Because if that minisode showed us anything, it's that if you let Aziraphale take over the metaphorical wheel for about five minutes, "too fast" doesn't even match the astronomical speed with which he crashes head first into 15th base. Forget the hand holding and kissing, let's go straight to you shooting me on the first date I planned for us!

And they say romance is dead.

Now look, of course, Aziraphale is still keeping most of his romantic feelings and longing bottled up out of fear that Heaven and Hell could find out about them and have Crowley destroyed. We've established that this very big fear of his is the driving factor behind him never trying to overstep that invisible line.

But still, those feelings? They're there. Oh, Hell, they are t-h-e-r-e.

Our angel is a master of self-delusion but not even he is holy enough to deny the fact that, if he could, he'd want nothing more than to lock that demon down and elope together into their happily-ever-after.

So, when Aziraphale finally budges and hands over the Holy Water to Crowley in 1967, I've always had a hard time believing that that line coming from Mr. "I guess there's something to be said for shades of grey" himself actually meant: "I'm not ready yet, you want to go faster than I do."

Because really, apart from trying to convince Aziraphale of the Arrangement and rescuing him from every silly, coincidental predicament the angel has gotten himself into over the millennia, what exactly is it that Crowley did here to "go too fast"? Hell, he's been at it at the pace of a snail ever since, very well knowing that Aziraphale would take a lot of gentle nudging and lunch temptations invitations to agree with the Arrangement.

All Crowley does in that moment in the car is offer Aziraphale a lift, anywhere he wants to go. And yes, that is code their little dance, that is how he shows his love for Aziraphale. But Aziraphale has never before deemed that an issue or seen it as a too-fast progression of their relationship. He even suggests another date himself two seconds later, saying:

A: "Perhaps we could go for a picknick one day. Dine at the Ritz."

So, what, one sentence later he suddenly wants to hit the breaks again? After he literally looked like this the last time Crowley drove (literally way too fast) through burning London?

Nah, I'm not buying it.

Instead, here's what I think Aziraphale really means with this line that changed us all (and I'm sorry, but I'm about to one-up the sadness of the 1862 meeting):

I think Aziraphale is referring to what he thinks is the reason Crowley wants the Holy Water for.

Suicide.

And boy-fucking-howdy, does that change the game.

Because if we assume that Aziraphale, all throughout the one-century-long Holy Water standoff, thought Crowley wanted it as a quick, ahem, Escape From Everything, what I think Aziraphale really means with "You go too fast for me" is this:

To him, Crowley is asking the most cruel deed of him to bring him the one thing that could take Crowley away from Aziraphale for good. For ever. In case things go pear shaped. In case Hell finds out about them and comes after Crowley.

To Aziraphale, Crowley is asking him to load the bullet into his gun for the time it won't be a trick. So he can escape before Hell gets to him.

More devestatingly, I think Aziraphale even understands where that notion comes from. Aziraphale knows how dangerous their relationship is. And Hell does not send rude notes. So, I think after pondering on it for a good millennia, part of him has come to understand why Crowley would want an emergency exit.

Which is absolutely fucking heartbreaking.

Especially because that's not even what Crowley was thinking when he made his request. He truly only wanted it as a defense. But Aziraphale doesn't believe or fully realize that. Aziraphale believes the Holy Water is a suicide pill and to some extent even understands why Crowley might want that.

And yet, despite (wrongly, but well) understanding Crowley's intentions, Aziraphale is still deeply upset and terrified at the thought of Crowley taking his own life should they ever get caught. Which explains his extreme reaction all the way back at their clandestine meeting at St. James' Park.

Aziraphale assuming Crowley's way out of the most pear-shaped situation of them all would be suicide also means that Aziraphale would be the one who'd be ... well, left behind.

He recognises that choosing death over possible eternal punishment is maybe somewhat of an understandable choice. And yet, it's a choice that, to him, Crowley has made without him. Seemingly way before their first talk about it.

Aziraphale thinks Crowley seems to have made up his mind about his escape plan without him in it.

He thinks that if they were caught, Crowley would want some Holy Water around to quickly chug before he would be at Hell's mercy and that would be it.

Crowley would, for the first time ever, really leave. Not just for Alpha Centauri. But actually leave. Escape and run away to a point of no return. For good. Without Aziraphale. To a place where Aziraphale couldn't follow him, no matter how fast he tried to run himself.

It goes a little something like:

"If they found out about us, you would choose to go where I couldn't follow. And you're asking me to pave the road for you to walk there. Without me ever being able to get a say in walking alongside you. You want to go to places where I could never join you. You'd run away without me and I understand why but you didn't even give me a chance to catch up. You go too fast for me, Crowley."

F*ck, man. I think I need to lie down.

Y'know what else that gives new meaning to?

Alright, that's it, I'm out. Enough sad meta-ing for the day. See you all around once I've stopped slipping further into the void, folks. :')

#good omens #good omens meta #my own meta #good omens season 2 #good omens 2 #gos2 #go2 #good omens s2 #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #you goo too fast for me crowley #aziraphale is master of projection #i made myself sad with this #The Arrangement #holy water #im gonna go read fluff now bye

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currentfandomkick · 4 months

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Started as one thing and veered in another direction, enjoy!

Masterlist here

Last time was a fluke. A mistake… right?

Danny glanced around him, and looked in the mirror.

He looked the same. He didnt know how he even did it the first time. He had blacked out.

He still inspected himself. No gills or scales.

No glow-in-the-dark white on his skin in vertical lines flanked by black. Besides the usual body hair.

No green freckles. He… he can admit to missing those.

He kept checking daily. For any signs that, that form(?) was creeping back into his day to day.

That stupid ectopus he’s convinced is on ecto-dejecto or ghost steriods kept coming back.

It was to the point Boxy was concerned and ‘guarding his sleep’ (in exchange for origami boxes/cubes. He even made some for Lunch Box).

Danny decided to conk out during one of Lancer’s lessons after another attack the nogjt before.

He’s pretty sure Tapas/Taco is being restrained by his parents in an ecto-proofed tank.

Ancients he hopes so.

Lancer called him back after class, with that stupid ‘i know you are better than this and that accident does not excuse such poor behavior young man’ attitude most of the staff had toward him.

The actual lunch ladies were chill, and therefore his favorite. And Lunch Lady since she took to packing him an extra lunch that Boxy drops off. Something about fighting your food to eat it daily being ‘unacceptable!’

Whatever.

“Mr. Fenton, I understand that you are facing more challenges than your peers, but do try to stay awake in my class.”

“Got it. Blame Tapas.”

“You can’t blame mexican food for all your issues.”

“I don’t—Tapas is the ectopus that’s been obsessed with me and Phantom since the stupid thing showed up. It keeps escaping the Thermos, and i honestly have no clue how to keep him contained long enough to throw it at ecto animal control or ghost jail.”

“… Mr. Fenton, have you considered staying with relatives away from Amity until this issue is resolved?”

“I literally can’t.” His core sank at the idea. “Ecto contaminated and dependent. Medically speaking, until portable ecto is something that can be handled over long distances, I can’t leave for more than a hundred days, give or take, before dying.” No matter how much he wanted to at times.

Mr. Lancer frowned at him. “If possible, would mixed in-person and online schooling be something you’d be amenable to? I can speak with your parents and arrange alternative student success plan, but its clear the situation won’t improve unless better accommodations are put in place.”

Danny opened and shut his mouth. “If I can get them here, sure.”

“Excellent. I would like to continue your classes with myself in person to better monitor your progress, or we can do tutoring after school or during my usual block for Saturday detentions.”

Danny nodded in a daze.

Then something crashed in through the window.

“Adventures of Tom Sawyer!”

Danny threw himself against a wall, trying to get Taco off him, only to get pulled through a wall, and further.

Hey tried scrambling for something to grab, but he phased through everything and he couldn’t go ghost in front of everyone seeing him get kidnapped by an extra annoying octopus.

The fact it was being filmed made it Worse.

Fuck.

Masterlist here

If you want to join the tag list, comment on the master list or reblog saying you want to join

Tags: @theizzyof3malec3 @brattysleepyreader @sebas-nights @elidaweirdotaku0520 @bianca-hooks123

#dpxdc #long post #danny phantom #mer!danny #reincarnated danny #topo is a menace #dp x dc #part 3 i guess

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 6 months

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Cozened Indigo - Part Two

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of murder, dark themes. Word count: ~4k

Summary: She gets her interview with Aemond, and Larys blows her cover. Series masterlist.

Author's note: For @humanpurposes. I have put my journalism degree to use here, to ensure as much accuracy as possible. However, as Westeros is a fictional place, I have warped certain laws and regulations regarding court reporting for the purpose of the story. Please suspend your disbelief for the sake of a fictional tale. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Aemond silently takes a seat, eyeing her carefully as she stands there, rooted to the spot. When she makes no move to do the same, he gives an impatient flick of his wrist, gesturing to the opposite side of the table. Startled out of her daze, she moves quickly, the chair legs scraping loudly against the hard, painted concrete as she pulls it out before sitting down.

His fingers drum slowly against the table top as he watches her place her notepad and pencil upon it.

“You haven’t brought a recording device,” he says.

It’s a statement, not a question, uttered by a voice that slices through the air like a hot knife through butter. Soft, yet possessing a sinister undertone that chills her to her core.

She wets her lips, glancing nervously at him before responding; “recording devices aren’t allowed.”

“They are on media visits.”

Sighing, she flips open her pad, tapping her pencil against the blank page. “The trial is in three weeks, there isn’t time to organise one, there’s too much red tape involved.”

“On a media visit, we would have privacy, our own visitation room. You could record our conversations instead of having to scribble to keep up with what I say.”

He sits back, his spine rigid against the plastic of the chair, and clasps his hands in front of him. She feels like she wants to scream in frustration, it doesn’t seem as though he’s even listening to her.

“We haven’t even introduced ourselves yet,” she tells him, attempting to change the topic in the hopes it will get him talking.

Aemond snorts derisively, though his eye does not reflect the upturn pull of his lips. “You know who I am, I know who you are. I don’t feel there’s any need, unless you’d like to exchange pleasantries? Shall we talk about the weather, perhaps?”

She chews her lip, considering her next words with caution. “You know my name, but you don’t know anything about me. Maybe you’d feel more at ease talking to me if I told you a little about myself?”

He leans forward and, reflexively, she pulls away, her back making a heavy impact with the hard backrest of the chair, as her pencil falls from her grasp onto the tabletop.

“I know you destroyed your career by publishing a story that glorified a criminal, without checking to see if your sources were credible. I’d say I know enough.”

She stares at him, wide-eyed, bile rising in her throat as her breathing grows erratic. She hadn’t anticipated him knowing about that, let alone bringing it up.

He chuckles drily, his posture relaxing as he leans back once more. “You’ve looked into me, dug around in my past, did you not think I’d do a little research of my own? I know all about you.”

“We’re…we’re not here to talk about me,” she stammers, attempting to compose herself as she snatches her pencil back up and sits up straight.

“I’m still deciding if I want to speak to you,” he admits with a shrug.

Her brow furrows in confusion as she narrows her eyes at him. “But you agreed to meet me?”

He gives a slight nod. “I agreed to meet you, yes. I didn’t agree to an interview.”

“Then why agree to see me? You’ve wasted my time.”

“I could say the same of you, waltzing in here, without even the decency to follow the appropriate media procedure, expecting me to spill my guts in front of a room full of rapists and murderers.”

“So you won’t speak to me?”

He pokes at the inside of his cheek with his tongue, appearing to think about her question, the silence feeling as though it could fill the vastness of an ocean.

“You seem…earnest,” he finally says, “get media visitation and you’ll have your interview.”

He slaps the flat of his hand against the top of the table, an indication that the conversation is at its end, and stands, walking slowly back over to the door he had entered through.

As the guard unlocks it, allowing him to leave, he casts one last look at her over his shoulder. It’s a pointed stare, one that lets her know that this isn’t up for debate. It’s no longer a question of if she can get a media visit, it’s when and how.

The moment she’s back on the ferry, she calls Larys, knowing that if anyone can acquire a media visit with any modicum of urgency it will be him. She is relieved when he picks up on the third ring, and she wastes no time in getting straight to the point.

“He won’t speak to me without a media visit.”

“Hello to you too,” he drawls.

She exhales heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. “The trial is in a few weeks, if I apply for it myself then it’ll take months. I need you to–”

Her phone beeps, the screen going black as her battery dies.

Fuck.

She had forgotten to switch it off before handing it to the guards, and the incoming emails and messages she’d received during her visit had drained it.

It’s evening by the time she gets home, the sun having set long ago on her journey from Dragonstone back to King’s Landing. Eagerly, she plugs her phone in to charge, restlessly tapping her foot as she waits for it to power back on.

Her heart skips, relief flooding her as the screen lights up and she is immediately met with a Whatsapp notification from Larys.

“Have been trying to reach you. Media visit is arranged for the day after tomorrow. Can you make it?”

With shaking fingers, she types back a reply, apologising, explaining her phone had died and confirming her availability. A few minutes later, he responds, telling her he will follow up with further information shortly.

It’s finally happening, she has her interview.

The following morning, her presence in the office feels like a mere farce to fill time, with no intention of starting the Flea Bottom piece, there is no real reason for her to be there, yet she has to keep up appearances until she has copy finalised for the story she actually intends to write. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission in this case.

She decides to fill her time with further background research and laying down the basic introduction for the piece, time is of the essence so it’s better to get a head start where she can. Less than ten minutes have passed when she hears the clearing of a throat behind her. Startled, she minimises her Word document and turns to see Royce looming over her.

“How’s the Flea Bottom piece coming along?” He asks, gesturing towards her computer monitor with his coffee mug.

“Oh…yeah,” she lies, with a tight smile, “making great progress with it, should have copy for you soon.”

He raises an eyebrow, looking at her incredulously, before taking a slow sip of coffee.

“Tell me then, if you are working on the Flea Bottom piece, what are you doing visiting Dragonstone Prison?”

Her face blanches as she stares up at him, her mouth running dry as she thinks of what to say. She has nothing.

“I–”

“My office. Now.”

He turns and strides back towards his small corner office, leaving the door ajar for her to follow.

It feels as though she is trudging through treacle as she makes her way across the newsroom, her heart pounding in her chest as she steps into the figurative lion’s den, expecting to be told her employment is terminated for openly defying a commission from not just her editor, but the editor of the Duskendale Gazette.

Sheepishly, she shuts the door behind her, pressing her back against the wood as her eyes raise to meet Royce’s, who sits behind his desk, visibly seething with annoyance. There’s no use in denying it, so she decides to get straight to the point.

“How did you find out?” She asks, her voice barely above a whisper as she clasps her hands in front of her.

“Larys Strong left a voicemail on the office’s answering machine yesterday evening, confirming your media visit to the prison tomorrow.”

Shit. He must have called the office when he couldn’t get through to her mobile.

He continues before she has a chance to respond. “I’ve told you already, to leave that story alone. Were I a less understanding employer, I’d fire you for insubordination, but I’m willing to be reasonable. You’re to drop whatever it is you’re pursuing and continue with the story you’ve been assigned. Is that clear?”

She sighs, bowing her head momentarily, before stepping towards his desk. Her tone is imploring, her stare pleading as she looks at him. “Royce, Larys Strong is Aemond Targaryen’s legal representation. They’ve chosen me, us, the Duskendale Gazette over all publications to run an exposé on him ahead of the upcoming trial! There is something there, I know there is, you have to let me pursue this. Please!”

Royce groans in frustration, carding his fingers through his dark curls. “You know I can’t allow you to do this, you could be accused of media bias, influencing the jury. That’s not a risk a publication as small as this one can afford to take.”

“The article isn’t going to mention the trial, or the allegations being made. I intend for it to be a profile piece. Aemond has never spoken to the media before, he is incredibly private. This would be an exclusive, we’d be doing something no other newspaper or magazine has done before. It takes months to get a media visit, Larys has gotten me one in two days. It would be stupid to waste this opportunity.”

She takes another step forward, now standing directly behind the chair that occupies the opposite side of Royce’s desk, silently hoping she has said enough to convince him.

He sighs, shoulders sagging slightly, as he regards her with a look of resignation. “I’ll let you do it, but I have conditions.”

Her heart soars, her eyes widening hopefully as she nods enthusiastically. “Anything.”

“You won’t be reporting on the trial itself once it starts. And I want copy in two weeks.”

She recoils at this, given how stony Aemond had been on their first meeting, she knows it will be virtually impossible to get him to say enough to fulfill that sort of deadline. She had been hoping to push right up to the day before the trial began.

“Two weeks?! Royce, that’s not even enough time to get the interviews I’ll need!”

“I’m not taking the risk of being accused of influencing the jury,” he retorts. “Two weeks, or I’m tanking this, got it?”

“Got it,” she replies quietly, her previous elation withering and dying as quickly as it had burst to life.

Two weeks to get Aemond to open up. Two weeks to save her career.

The moment she is out of Royce’s office, she calls Larys, overwhelmed by annoyance at the trouble he has gotten her into and eager to give him a piece of her mind.

“You left a voicemail at my office,” she says irritably, when he eventually picks up.

He hums affirmatively into the receiver. “Well, your mobile was switched off.”

“You’ve gotten me into so much trouble with my boss, he almost pulled the plug on all of this!”

She hears him exhale slowly, pausing before responding. “But he hasn’t, so that’s a good thing.”

“I’m not allowed to report on the trial either, and I have to have the entire piece finished in two weeks.”

“Well, consider it a blessing. Minimal risk of media bias, you now have permission to write the story too. Wouldn’t it be a shame to go to all that effort to have it wasted at the eleventh hour, because your editor won’t approve it?”

Her eyes narrow, her voice lowering in an accusatory tone. “You did this deliberately, didn’t you?”

He lets out a quiet laugh that travels through the phone as a breathy sigh. “There is rarely anything I do that isn’t a calculated choice. I think you’ll find my actions have been mutually beneficial. Good luck with your visitation tomorrow.”

There is a click before the line goes dead. He’s hung up.

She wants to be angry, but she knows he’s right. Without the need for secrecy, this piece will be far easier to write, even with an impossible deadline.

There is a marked difference between this morning’s visit to Dragonstone Prison and the one previous. As soon as she checks in at the ferry terminal, she is ushered towards her own private boat and transported across the Gullet. There is no wait time once she arrives and, though she is searched, she is allowed to keep her electronic devices with her.

The room she is led to is small; plain white walls and a white floor, with only a table and two chairs, the same as the ones in the visitation room, at the centre of it. The blinking red light of a CCTV camera placed in the top corner by the door catches her eye, reminding her of the profundity of her location.

Over the last couple of days, she has been distracted by the stress of Royce finding out what she has secretly been working on, and preparing for the interview, so much so that she has quite forgotten just how foreboding the presence of Aemond Targaryen is.

She is delivered a stark reminder as he is led into the room, clad in the same grey prison scrubs he’d been wearing on her first visit, his wrists handcuffed in front of him. It feels as though all the air leaves the compact space as he enters it. His posture is immutable as always, his head held high, and his gaze immediately fixes upon her, an unmistakable glint in his eye as he stares at her. She stares back, hoping she appears more impassive than she feels, but there is an underlying fear that if he really wanted to hurt her then there is little the cuffs he wears could do to stop him.

“Bang on the door if you need anything,” the guard tells her, breaking her out of her reverie, “you’ve got one hour.”

The fact that there will be someone stationed outside of the door helps her to relax a little and she decides that this time she won’t allow for him to have the upper hand, moving to take her seat before Aemond does, as the guard leaves, locking them both in.

She keeps her attention on the table in front of her, placing her dictaphone in the middle, as Aemond slips into the chair on the opposite side of it.

“How are you today?” She asks, keeping her tone casual as she fiddles with the settings of the recording device.

“Incarcerated,” he answers simply, his voice conveying no emotion.

She sighs, glancing up at him. “I went to the effort to get a media visit, as you requested, I hope you’re feeling a little more talkative today.”

“The effort that Larys went to,” he corrects her. “You seem to forget that you stand to gain something from this too.”

Biting back the heated retort she wants to make, she ignores his comment. “This will be a profile piece, we’re not going to talk about the upcoming trial, we don’t even need to talk about your nephew if you’d prefer not to.”

“A little hard to avoid that,” he says, lips quirking slightly. His cuffs give a metallic clink as he lifts his hands towards his face, tapping at the ragged scar on the left side of his face. “Luke is the reason I have this.”

Her lips part slightly, eyes widening in shock as she stares at him. “Lucerys did that to you?”

Aemond nods, lowering his hands into his lap. “When we were children. It was a petty squabble at a birthday party. I threw the first punch, but he lashed out with a knife, and I’ve been left with a permanent reminder of the fact.

An overwhelming surge of pity courses through her, her face softening as she looks at him. She wants to say something to comfort him, but he stops her before she has the opportunity.

“I don’t need your pity. It’s been fifteen years. Let’s just get on with the interview, time is running out.”

She clears her throat, shifting in her seat as her thumb presses down on the record button of her dictaphone. “Right, let’s start with your childhood.”

The hour vanishes into nothing as she asks Aemond probing questions about what he was like as a child, how his relationship with his family was and what his upbringing was like. A tale of fatherly neglect, of children living in the shadow of their older half sister unfolds as he tells her of how he grew up teased by his older brother, Aegon, and bullied by his nephews, Jacaerys and Lucerys. The only members of his family that he ever received anything close to affection from were his mother and his sister, Helaena.

She pays rapt attention, her heart aches for him, though her sympathy comes in short lived bursts, as every time his knee accidentally grazes hers beneath the table, it chills her blood and causes her skin to break out into gooseflesh. At least she assumes it’s accidental.

They draw to a natural stopping point and she switches the recording device off. The one question she has never asked, that there has been a complete media black out in terms of details, is precisely how Aemond killed Lucerys. Her curiosity gets the better of her and the question passes her lips before she can stop herself.

“How did it happen?”

Aemond tenses, jaw clenching as he stares at her intently. He swallows thickly, then responds, “you mean how did I kill him? I trust that this is off the record?”

She nods, afraid that if she speaks she’ll scare him off of opening up to her.

“I lost control of my car, and I hit him. He died.”

There is no hint of remorse evident in his voice, he responds as though she has asked him for the time. She is struck by how matter of fact he is. Surely, if it was accidental then he’d show even a slither of emotion? Just as she’s about to question him further, the door swings open and the guard informs her that her time is up.

She has barely scratched the surface of Aemond Targaryen, she knows if she is to write a feature that is even half decent she’ll need more time with him. She is grateful that Larys informs her has managed to secure two further media visits, and over the following week she gets to know Aemond better - at least what he is willing to share with her.

He is intelligent, with a keen interest in history and philosophy. He does not share his brother’s love of socialite status, preferring to dedicate his time to reading and fitness. Unwavering in his loyalty to his family, he had taken up a position at his grandfather’s law firm up until the point of his arrest. Aemond Targaryen’s life is one that is shrouded in solitude and tragedy. Aemond embodies pieces of a broken antique vase; the idea of putting him back together is beautiful, but there is the inevitable risk of cutting yourself if you attempt to try.

She does not bring up the death of Lucerys again, telling herself it will be easier to get him to talk if they stick to subjects that don’t make him uncomfortable. However, deep down she knows that she hadn’t liked what she’d heard when she’d asked him the first time, she hadn’t enjoyed the way his response had made her feel. Better to avoid the fear than face it head on.

As their final interview comes to its end, she switches off the dictaphone, expecting a cordial and brief farewell, before the guard re-enters to take Aemond away once more. She is surprised when, after a moment of keeping his gaze fixed on his cuffed wrists that rest on the table in front of him, he looks up at her and asks; “will you be at the trial?”

She pauses momentarily, as she’s slipping her equipment back into her bag, taken aback by his question. “Oh…um…well, I’m not going to be covering it.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t sit in the public gallery.”

“Are you saying you want me to be there?”

Aemond gives a slight shrug. “You’ve come this far. May as well see it through to the end.”

He’s right, as he frustratingly always seems to be. She responds with a slight nod, moving to stand. She is unsure how exactly to bid him farewell, this is the last time she will ever be in such close proximity to him. Looking at how his wrists are shackled, she knows a hand shake would be inappropriate. She shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, deciding eventually to keep things formal.

“Well, Larys will provide you with the article once it’s published. Thank you for taking the time to speak to me.”

He grins wolfishly at this, staring up at her intently. “Thank you. I’m sure you’ll make me leap right off the page.”

His words stay with her, echoing in her mind long after she has left the prison. Though her time with Aemond is at its end, she knows his impact upon her is one that will last a lifetime. The intensity of his one eyed stare is forever burned into her mind, the lilt of his voice one that scratches at the recesses of her mind, and with the article still to write she knows she is far from free of him. While Aemond is quite literally imprisoned, he has her trapped in a cell of his own creation, one that she won’t be freed from until the words are on the page.

As she walks to the office, preparing to transcribe her interviews, her phone vibrates in her bag. Pulling it out she sees Larys’ name on her screen, and quickly presses to accept the call. She barely has time to greet him before he begins speaking, and she pushes a finger to her ear to better hear him over the sound of passing traffic.

“Have you got everything you need?” His tone is strained, an undercurrent of urgency in his voice that she’s never heard before.

“As far as my interviews with Aemond are concerned, yes. It would give a more well rounded piece if other members of the family were prepared to talk, but we’ve already established that that’s not an option.”

“Aegon and Helaena have agreed to speak with you,” he informs her quickly.

Her eyes widen in shock, and she ducks down a side street, shifting the phone to the other side of her head, wanting to give him her full attention. “Why the sudden change? What’s happened?”

“Rhaenyra has gotten wind of the fact that Aemond has spoken to the press, so now she’s doing an interview too – with White Knight Magazine.”

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honey-crypt · 2 months

Text

a/n: a request from the lovely @fuerrziah! the rest of my drafts are smut requests and i've been anti-horny soooo... have some short but tooth aching sweet fluff!!

word count: 892

warnings: none

summary: a surprise dinner has elliott questioning what you have up your sleeve. little does he know, you have hidden a mermaid's pendant somewhere at the table.

★ honeysuckles and pomegranates - elliott x farmer ★

Elliott clutched the ornate letter close to his chest, as he approached the entrance to the local farm. He recited the contents of the letter by heart in his mind, as if it was a mantra of good luck. Over and over again, the writer repeated to himself, Meet me tonight at 9pm. I have a surprise for you. Dress up.

And- oh, boy- did Elliott dress up. His day to day appearance reflected nothing but sophistication and charm in his neatly pressed shirts and bold accents, but his “dress up” attire blew that essemble out of the water. Elliott wore his hair in a low ponytail, secured in an emerald green ribbon. He dressed in a flowy white shirt and paired it with relaxed red slacks, his overcoat shrugged off his shoulders like a shawl. His brown Oxfords echoed against the dirt ground, as Elliott approached his beloved’s farmhouse.

Outside, the farm was illuminated by bronze lanterns, the core areas sporting at least one. Fireflies filled the remaining darkness out with the occasional flicker of dim light. Elliott knocked on the door and awaited for his beloved. A few footsteps rang out from behind the door, closer and closer until the redhead came face to face with you, his love.

“Hello, honeysuckle,” the term of endearment rolled off his tongue effortlessly. You beamed up at Elliott, “Hello, pompom~” your tongue, meanwhile, teased out the pet name for Elliott. He let out a snort, uncharacteristically poignant of his usual prim and proper self. Yet, with you, Elliott allowed himself to ‘let loose’ and forgo any formalities.

“You said in your letter-” he unfolded the precious paper of parchment and double-checked its contents, “That you had a surprise for me?” you nodded and held out your hand, “Lemme show you,” the writer graciously took your hand and followed you towards the surprise. Nested within the lushious orchard on your property, fairy lights shined upon a magnificent scene. A small table with two chairs stood proudly in the center, as soft instrumentals hummed from the radio. A bottle of chilled pomegranate wine rested in an ice box on the table, a plate of freshly steamed crab cakes on each side of the chairs. Elliott could only gawk like a dumbstruck fool at the sight before him.

“What do you think? I got this all set up for you,” your voice brought him back into reality. Elliott blinked and turned to you, “What do I think?” he pulled you close and pressed a chaste kiss on your lips, “I believe you have outdone yourself once again, my dear.”

“I’m glad you like it!” you giggled, your smile ever so bright in Elliott’s eyes. You then gestured to the grand dinner, “Let’s eat,” the redhead nodded in agreement and took a seat at the table with you, his mouth salivating at the sight of his favorite meal.

Goodness, this must have cost them a small fortune, the writer thought to himself while he dug into the heavenly assortment. As the meal went on, the two of you exchanged recaps of your day, the latest town gossip, and so on. It was just like every other dinner date, but in his heart, Elliott knew something was slightly off about this date, as his nose twitched throughout the dinner.

“I propose a toast,” his ears perked up at the sound of your sweet voice. You held up your glass of wine and Elliott followed in suit, “Just like old times,” the writer mused. Elliott smiled fondly at the memory, the night he felt the spark ignite in his chest, as he proposed a toast to your friendship. The way your smile lit up the saloon, the way you merrily drank your ale, it was no surprise that Elliott fell head over heels for you.

“I wish to toast to…” your eyes darted to the ice box, “Our love,” you lifted up the ice box, revealing an all too familiar necklace. Elliott’s jaw went slack at the necklace, the vibrant blue pendant glistening under the moonlight. You grasped the Mermaid’s Pendant and held it out to Elliott, “The moment we shared that drink in the saloon was the night I fell in love with you, Elliott. Underneath your elegant persona, I saw a man full of wonder and laughter,” tears began to swell up in the writer’s eyes, “Elliott, will you do me the greatest honor and marry me?”

“Yes!” he nearly shrieked, forgoing any restraint and practically throwing himself at you. The two of you shared a deep kiss, your hands playing with Elliott’s long ginger hair while he held you as close as he possibly could. When you finally pried yourself off one another, Elliott flashed you that million dollar smile of his and hummed, “Do you want to know something funny?”

“Of course,” you answered, eyes twinkling with curiosity. Elliott rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a small box, “I planned on proposing to you, too,” he opened the box and revealed an identical Mermaid’s Pendant. You broke out into a grin and kissed your fiancé feverishly, pulling away only to put the engagement token around Elliott’s neck. He returned the favor and stared down at your neck, his chest bubbling up with excitement.

Guess my nose is never wrong about these sorts of things.

#honey crypt fics #stardew valley #sdv #stardew #sdv elliott #stardew valley elliott #stardew elliott #sdv elliott x farmer #stardew elliott x farmer #stardew valley elliott x farmer #sdv elliott x reader #stardew elliott x reader #stardew valley elliott x reader

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arting-block · 11 months

Note

I absolutely love your writing style & your 11th doctor fics 😊 I’m not sure what your opinions on writing poly ships are, but I’m a sucker for some fem reader x 11 and River, and was wondering if i could request something fluffy and sweet with reader thinking her feelings towards the both of them are unrequited due to River and the Doctor being together already, but of course relationships with the Doctors can always be so complicated so who says he has to love just one woman at a time, he’s got two hands for a reason 🙏❤️

𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬, 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | Eleventh Doctor x F!Reader x River Song

❝𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥. 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥.❞

Summary: You were just a companion, a friend to the two Time Lords. At least, you thought you were.

Warnings: Angst, unrequited love (not really lol), fluffy ending

Words: 6.1K

A/N: I'M ALIVE!!! This request sat in my inbox and I struggled a bit to not turn this into a fully fleshed out story. I swear this was meant to be a smol lil blurb, your honor. I sneezed and then 5k spat onto my screen idk it just happened I swear...Anyways, gonna try to get to my other requests soon 🫡

Ordinary is not in your vocabulary. Nothing in your life ever seemed ordinary the moment the Doctor offered an adventure in his bigger-on-the-inside box and a devilish smile. No one normal would have given their safety in exchange for life-threatening altercations with aliens, monsters, and the worst of the universe. You hated the ordinary, despised the monotony of everyday life.

You took the Doctor’s offer with a smile of your own, delight and mischief to complement.

Everything was going well as far as you were concerned. Lives were saved, memories were made, and all the time in the world to do whatever. You were happy, plain and simple.

You embraced the unknown, thanks to the Doctor’s influence. Comfortable with the odd and unthinkable.

At least you thought you were.

With each adventure comes injuries. Most are minimal that heal in a matter of days. Others leave scars that are forever etched in your skin. Being the self-sacrificing stubborn human you were, you often became a shield to those in need. In this particular case you had gotten slashed by a knife in a tussle.

It wasn’t deep enough to be fatal, but it stretched from your collarbone to the side of your neck. Thin line of crimson and a sharp sting when air hit it. Annoying, yes, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

Your traveling companion had a different view.

You groan, “I’m fine, seriously. There’s no need to fuss over a scratch.”

River, beautiful as she is stubborn, gives you a pointed look. One that borders a withering stare but since you’re you it comes off as scolding.

“You nearly had your head off your shoulders. You’re lucky I was there to intervene,” came her grumbling response.

Her fingers find your chin to tilt your head up, her face out of your line of sight as you stare up at the ceiling. You take the opportunity to roll your eyes at her need to coddle you. You’re a grown woman for Christ’s sake, perfectly capable of handling yourself. If anything you’ve encountered worse and had bounced back fine.

Sure, the knife of your attacker came a tad too close to the artery on your neck. Hell, maybe if your reflexes didn’t kick in fast enough you would’ve had a much different night to spend.

But those hypothetical scenarios were merely that. Hypothetical. You’ve walked away that fight with bruised knuckles and a shallow, 4 inch cut.

You were fine. Perfectly capable of handling yourself—

River’s finger finds the hollow of your throat.

Feather-light, just barely touching the skin. You feel her touch up along your neck sending a chill down your spine. Your breath hitched when it stopped just above your pulse point. Something tugs the strings in your chest.

A dangerous feeling coils down in your core.

River’s breath tickles your ear, “Breathe, darling. Can’t have you passing out on me.”

As if on command, your body responds eagerly. You force air to leave your lungs all at once. There’s a slight burn left behind and you're sure it’s not due to your withholding oxygen.

You clear your throat, “Are you going to patch me up Doctor Song?”

It comes off shaky and quiet.

River’s hand leaves your face and you can finally see her. A curve of a smile and a glint in her eyes that leaves goosebumps.

Your legs involuntarily shift close.

River gives a shrug, “You’re right, just a scratch. No need for fussing. Unless you want me to patch you up?”

You shake your head, “N-No, there’s no need. Thank you for offering though.”

There’s a painful squeeze in your chest. Regret.

River nods understandably, “I’ll be out of your hair then. Give a shout if you need me.”

You watch as she turns to leave. You can’t help but trace the curve of her hips as she approaches the door. Words clump in your throat, an impulse of a thought racing. Before you can act she crosses the threshold, the door closing behind her.

Somehow it stung more than the 4 inch cut on your throat.

Just a friend. Only a friend.

— — —

You tried to put the encounter with River as far removed from your mind as you can. It was just the heat of the moment, a little rise because it’s been ages since you’ve had a romantic relationship. Not that you needed one. You’re perfectly content with spending your time with the Doctor. Who needs romance when you’re traveling the universe with a quirky alien?…A hot alien.

A hot alien who is your friend. Nothing more.

“Is there something on my face?” the Doctor asked, swiping his chin for invisible crumbs.

His words snapped you out of your haze. Back to the present.

“Wha—No! Sorry, lost in my own head. What were you saying?”

The Doctor presses a few buttons to prepare the TARDIS for travel, glossing over your admitting to not listening, “I was in the middle of explaining why going to Kaythrona would be a bad idea in comparison to Bouble-4A. Perfect this time of year—trees made of crystals and the water is perfect temperature year round. Perfect water, perfect temperature, perfect getaway!”

His smile is that of pure joy. Infectious to anyone, especially you.

“Yeah, perfect! You have any plans when we arrive?” you asked, leaning against the console.

You were an arm’s length away. At this distance you could smell the remnants of his earl gray tea from this morning clinging to his clothes. Wild hair that is tamed on the sides, the cut of his cheekbone, and the hint of stubble along his jaw.

The Doctor whizzes about the controls with flair. Pushing, pressing, and pulling controls that look indistinguishable from one another.

“Many, many plans. Oh, (Y/N) you’re gonna love the little markets along the coast. We could go to the seafood restaurant—no, the pearl mines! So much to do and lots to show you.”

The Doctor makes his way around back to you, bumping shoulders as he did so. He turns to you, excited to expose you to yet another world.

You give him a small smile in return. Hoping your demure expression would hide the fluttering of your heart.

Pulling the engine lever down, you feel the familiar rumbling of the TARDIS. The two of you grab onto the railing in hopes to not fall over. The Doctor reaches for the edge of the console, bracing himself.

You, caught up in your fawning, didn’t properly latch onto the railing and nearly toppled over. A hand yanks your arm and you collide with a wall of wool and earl gray.

“Don’t worry I got you,” the Doctor assured, his mouth nearly kissing against your ear.

His hand migrates from your arm to your waist, pulling you to his side. Tight and secure. The shaking continues, but you’re much too focused on how warm the Doctor seems to be. His hand firm on your side, as if it was meant to be there. Your cheek against the scratchy wool of his coat just inches away from his hearts.

Just a friend. Only a friend.

You grasp onto his jacket even though there’s a perfectly stable railing right in front of you.

— — —

Ordinary didn’t apply to your life, so it would only make sense it didn’t touch your love life either.

River once again joined you and the Doctor for another adventure. Surprisingly, one that didn’t involve intergalactic battles and executing a poorly planned heist. No, she just so happened to be in New York in 2023 at the exact same pizza parlor the Doctor is dragging you to.

In the past few months you’ve come to realize that the odd feelings in your stomach and the nervous butterflies wasn’t just spur-of-the-moment anxiety. It only manifests when you are within proximity to either the Doctor or River. Anytime they slipped past your personal bubble, you felt the simmering heat in your stomach and a dizziness whenever they got too close. You didn’t realize how the three of you would be joined at the hip until you realized something.

You love the Doctor…and River.

It came crawling into your mind until it was all you could think about. Moments across the years playing over and over. You loved them both for so long but you played it off as platonic. It should’ve been obvious with how you hoard their attention and do everything in your power to be near them. Their laughs, praise, and happy moments shared between you set your heart ablaze.

Only problem is that they’re already married. They weren’t secretive either. Always flirting in the face of danger. Lingering eyes and a heated kiss when things got rough. They never hid their affection towards one another.

You were never jealous of them. The ache in your chest came from the fact that they would never share that with you. You were you and they were the Doctor and River Song. They had a history long before you and they seemed more than content with each other.

River sat in a booth in the far corner of the restaurant. The afternoon sun highlighted her golden hair like a halo. She was writing in that old diary of hers that resembles your beloved time-machine.

The Doctor walked in fast, measured steps while you tried to keep up. His hand on your back, guiding you through the people crowding around the cashier. The closer you stepped the more anxiety pools.

River looks up from her diary with a wide grin. The one where it crinkles her eyes and makes you lose breath.

“Hello sweetie,” she says, her words honeyed with affection.

“Hello love,” the Doctor returns with a giddy smile.

River’s gaze met yours. Her expression didn’t change, as if she was just as happy to see you.

“We meet again, darling.”

Darling became her nickname for you as much as sweetie was for the Doctor.

She’s just flirting, nothing special.

Your nails dig into your palms, “So it seems, Riv.”

The Doctor ushers you into the booth so you sit shoulder to shoulder. He rubs his hands together as he snatched a menu from the pile in the middle of the table.

“Alright, what do we have here? Some good ol’ pepperoni, some cheese, and lovely sauce. I’m absolutely famished. Haven’t stopped to think, let alone eat something other than the ramen packets Y/N hoards,” the Doctor says.

You snatched the menu from the Doctor, “So you were eating them! You said they could clog your arteries.”

The Doctor snatches the menu right back, “I said they could clog your arteries, not mine.”

“You made me believe I was going mad! Why couldn't you get your own?”

“‘Cause your room is closer…and less expensive.”

The two of you continue to bicker whilst the menu keeps being tugged mercilessly. Ramen packets changed to snoring habits (you were horrified that the Doctor snuck into your room when you were still in it) and the argument shifted to accusations. Most of which was you calling the Doctor a robber. The Doctor deflects and somehow blames you for being easy to rob.

River watched the exchange with a tiniest of smiles. The Doctor with a hint of red at his ears, leaning forward. You with pinched brows and sharp words that you don't actually mean. So close the two of you were that your knees were touching and the air between was your mingled breaths.

“Ahem,” River coughed rather obnoxiously.

At the sound of her, the two of you ceased arguing.

“Any louder and you’ll alert the whole parlor,” she scolds.

Luckily the busy little parlor was already loud with its many customers. Loud enough to drown the squabbling in your booth. Though the realization of how you might've looked made you and the Doctor slouch into your seats.

River narrows her eyes, “If you're done arguing like petty school girls we could hurry up and order because I’m not sharing my food. Unless you wish to continue spilling each other's secrets for all of New York to hear.”

“Nope, we're done,” you say. You shoot her a grin in hopes to hide the fact that, yes, you will continue later.

River’s eyes shift to her husband, who avoids her stare.

“Yes, done-zo. No more arguing,” the Doctor affirms. He leaves out the “For now” at the end.

River knows the little omissions. She doesn't voice it, instead rolling her eyes.

— — —

Lunch went by smoothly, all things considered. Food was served, pizza was eaten, and stories passed the time. The Doctor retold your fantastical adventures with some minor exaggeration (leaving out the mishaps as well). River bragged about her many archeological discoveries and Indiana Jones-esque quests to find legendary artifacts.

As they retold, shared, and laughed at each other's fortune, you sat in your seat with sealed lips. As the time passed, the two of them leaned forward with biting grins. It was as if magnets in their chests pulled them nearer.

You stayed put because in place of a magnet was a lump of sorrow that was weighing you down. You watched their banter go on and on, leaving you out. Their words turned personal, intimate with inside jokes. It was clear that although River and the Doctor weren't exclusive by any means, their love runs deeper than most.

Their love for each other ran deeper, felt stronger only for them.

Not for you.

It hurts to watch them. It hurts to love them knowing they will never feel the same. You’re just a temporary blip in their long lives. They already have one another. Perfectly content with having you just as a companion. Because that’s all you are to them. In this moment, trapped in your bubble, you can see just how in love they are. In the middle of the table their hands are inches away from each other. The tips of their hands moving at a snail's pace towards the other, until they fold in where they meet. They don’t seem to notice the collision of hands, still conversing with one another nonchalantly.

It’s an innocent gesture. Sweet and pure with its intentions. Perfectly their hands fit, you don’t think they could form against yours. They were perfect for one another. Witty mouths, playful eyes, and brilliant minds.

Husband and wife. Vowed for one another.

Your eyes don’t leave their hands, transfixed by your own spell of deep longing.

The Doctor laughs at something River says. It’s a soft chuckle that pulls his lips and shakes his head. River stares unabashed with eyes so full of love that it tugs the strings in your chest.

It makes you sick.

“I need to use the bathroom,” you blurt out. You felt too close, too warm in the booth. You need to get away from them both.

The Doctor and River glance at one another. A pointed look that could hold entire conversations. Moments ticked by before the Doctor scoots out of his seat to let you pass. You all but sprinted out of the booth and made a bee-line to the bathroom.

It was a small, dank space with dark brown walls and one lighting fixture in the middle of the ceiling. The harsh lighting and tight space was far from cozy and inviting, but you are glad to have made it out. Your breathing became more shallow, tears started to burn into your eyes. You stare into the warped reflection in the mirror.

Tiredness smudges around your eyes. Your lower lip is cracked from the constant tugging and swiping of your tongue. Edges of your shirt wrinkled from how tightly you were holding onto it.

You don’t know how long you stared at yourself. Lines around your face blur as the tears start to flow. Down your face, into the valleys of cheeks, and into the porcelain sink. Another falls, then another, until you can’t help but sob into your hand.

— — —

Minutes tick by. The pizza being shared was now specks of crumbs.

Your companions sit idly, waiting for your return.

“Is it just me, or is (Y/N) a bit quiet today?” the Doctor mused, looking behind him to see the closed door of the bathroom. The red sticker on the lock gnaws at his mind.

River rubs her thumb over the Doctor’s hand, “Why don’t you ask her? She’s your companion.”

The Doctor turns back to her, “Why don’t you ask her? Everytime I see you two, you can’t keep your hands off one another.”

His words don’t have any malice. If anything, it was more of a jab at how horribly River hides her affinity towards you. Always doting on you with small trinkets and tight hugs. The soft drawl of her “darling” seemed much too intimate, too loving to be platonic.

River’s smile is sharp, her words quick, “Says the man who whimpers whenever she wears a tight dress.”

As quick as her words came, the image of you a week ago floods his mind.

Silk gloves, the shine of your skin, the color of your lipstick. It was a gala out in a different galaxy and the Doctor found it hard to resist your puppy eyes.

You begged him to dress up, to match with your dress. He mutters, whines, and begrudgingly says yes. Not because he didn’t want to go, but because he knew of the outcome of seeing your dress.

A deep blue, nearly black, with delicate lacing and gemstones. Simple, lavish, and complimented your body beautifully. The neckline perfectly snug against your chest, bodice hugging your waist, and when you turned around—

The whole of the Doctor’s face flushes a bright pink. He sputters, tone harsh, “I do not. It’s called being flustered. I’ll have you know that I—stop laughing.”

The Doctor’s plea falls on deaf ears as River let out a choked giggle. Her hand covers her mouth, but the edges of her smile still peek through. Seeing the Doctor flustered over a girl never fails to make her laugh.

“I was…only teasing!” she let out between giggles. The expression the Doctor made, all grumpy like a cat, made her sides hurt.

The laughter dies down. River dabs her eyes and massages her tired cheeks. The Doctor’s hearts swells at her joy, even if it was at his own expense.

The Doctor looks over his shoulder once more. Your door is still locked with no one in line. An uneasy feeling lodges in his chest. Your usual bright, happy attitude was strangely absent. A few times you chimed in, relaying your own version of a story the Doctor purposefully miscounted.

You weren’t sad, at least the Doctor didn’t seem to think so. Empty was a more appropriate word. Stuck in your own head thinking God knows what.

“Did you hold up your end?”

River’s questions shocked the Doctor out of his own thoughts.

The Doctor narrows his eyes, “I don’t recall making a bargain with you. I thought we agreed that if we were drunk that it doesn’t count.”

River rolls her eyes, “I’m talking about (Y/N). I told you to talk to her about…” she gestures to the space between them.

The Doctor mimics her movements, confusion still present in his face, “What’s this? What did I agree to?”

“Us! You agreed to talk to (Y/N) about us. You told me that you would drop hints about it,” River scans the Doctor’s face for any recognition. She sees the realization dawn on him, and the guilt settling in. River can’t help but curl her lips into a snarl, “You didn’t do it, did you?”

“How am I supposed to?” he threw his hands up in exasperation, “It’s bad enough as it is that I get all light-headed and fuzzy when she’s near me. You hear me? Light-headed and fuzzy. I didn’t think that was possible—no I was certain it wasn’t possible. At least with you, you made all the moves from the get-go. What if she doesn’t like me back?’

River shoved her leg under the table, earning a strained “ow” from the Doctor, “You stupid oaf! Of course she likes you! Smartest man in the universe, yet you couldn’t use your big brain of yours to notice her signals? A cyberman could figure it out for goodness sake.”

The Doctor slumped back into his chair, dumbfounded. He would be lying if he said he didn't notice how close you were with him. But you're close with everyone. Always friendly, open with your emotions.

River was the one to bring up a potential relationship. Nudging the Doctor towards you, trying to get him to open up. Every time he mentions anything romantic, it never seems to come out right. Words jumble in his head and his tongue knots in his mouth. On the off chance he does something “romantic”, you would always—unwaveringly—call him a friend. He has to pretend that the word doesn’t make his teeth grind against each other.

The Doctor swirls the colored straw in his glass of soda. The ice clinking against glass and the residual carbonation sizzling out.

Ice. Cracking. Sizzling out into the inky depths of the cola, almost black in the dim lighting.

Something in his brain clicks.

— — —

10 minutes passed before someone banged on the bathroom door.

“Can you hurry up man! You’re holdin’ up the line!” an angry, muffled voice yelled.

You furiously wiped your face, collecting all the remaining tears with paper towels. A couple splashes of water to soothe your puffy eyes before you unlock the bathroom. You were greeted with a cross, stout man with too much hair on his chest and not enough on his head. He grumbled something before making his way around you. No one else stood behind him.

The restaurant died down with only a few tables left occupied and the setting sun spilling through the windows. You drag yourself towards the booth the Doctor and River were situated in. Your steps get slower as the distance gets shorter. Dread builds into you; your mind conjures the image of their exclusion towards you.

Voices, familiar and warm, could be heard. They were more hushed than before, perhaps due to the lack of other customers to drown out their noise. As you round a corner, you see River and the Doctor hunched towards one another. You can only see River’s stern expression before her eyes immediately spot you. Relief sags her shoulders. At her expression, the Doctor whizzed around to greet you.

You stopped in front of them, seeing their ruffled clothes and fidgeting body language. You were gone for a few minutes, so why did they look…disheveled? River’s usual glossy curls were frizzy around the edges; wild strands sticking to and fro. The Doctor’s shirt looked wrinkled and bowtie skewed at an odd angle.

Did they…? No, you weren’t gone for that long.

“Sorry I took so long. Long line and no toilet paper,” you lie with a monotone voice. You didn’t put any energy into making it believable, hoping they would get the hint to not question you.

The Doctor sprang up from his seat with an expression that seemed much too happy to be innocent.

“Change of plans. River had just informed me that at this very moment, there is a comet passing by in—” he checks his watch, “ —Yosemite, California. Super beautiful, gorgeous color. Isn’t that right Riv?”

River nods, fast and eager, “Sure is, sweetie. I’ve had enough of the city, wouldn’t you say?”

Their odd behavior rang alarm bells in your mind. A prank? You doubt River would be the type to follow along with a malicious prank. The Doctor, however…

You let out an exhausted sigh, “Could this wait later? Tomorrow?”

“Nope! Can’t wait, lots to see!” came the Doctor’s reply.

The Doctor placed his hands on your shoulders to steer you to the front door. Your feet nearly tangle together, practically stumbling down the empty street with River not too far behind. You find your footing just fast enough so that you can speed walk without the Doctor trying to knock you over.

“Guys, slow down. Doctor, I can walk just fine y’know,” your shoe gets caught onto a piece of sidewalk, making you jump slightly. It doesn’t deter the Doctor, still hellbent on shoving you down the street. You turn to your side, eyeing River, “Could you please explain to me what’s going on? Why are you guys acting weird?”

River’s cherry red lips stretched to a smile (Did she just apply it?), “Spoilers.”

Your friends’ odd behaviors made you question if you’re being kidnapped by shapeshifters. Not an impossible scenario, but would explain why they’re suddenly so hyper. The Doctor made a sharp turn into an alley. You see the TARDIS with its vibrant blue against the red brick of the buildings beside it.

Something’s wrong.

“The TARDIS was parked a few streets down. Why is it here?” you questioned, distrust lacing your voice.

The Doctor sent a worried look towards River, who looked caught off-guard.

“We…thought it was best to move it closer so you didn’t have to walk far,” River explains. It comes out quickly. Too rushed and uneasy to make it truthful.

The Doctor gave a smile, too wide for your liking.

You cross your arms over your chest, “If you don’t spit it out already I’m not getting into the TARDIS. I’m honestly a bit freaked out right now.”

“We, uh…” the Doctor moves his hand, trying to come up with something, “We can’t tell you.”

You scoff, looking at River to see if she will spill.

River shrugs, “You’ll have to come inside the TARDIS to see.”

You wrestle with the idea of accusing them of being aliens with perception filters. It could explain their odd appearance and eagerness to get you to the TARDIS. Were the real Doctor and River Song trapped somewhere. Is this a trick of the mind?

The Doctor hand tugs yours. Secure and warm. His expression calms, “It’s a surprise,” he indulges.

River unlocks the TARDIS, holding the door open, “A big one.”

The Doctor and River take your hands, interlocking them. The action sends your mind blank. Soft, warm. They hold tightly, flushed against your clammy palms. Your heart stutters, finally registering what’s happening. You’ve held their hands many, many times. It wasn’t unusual to see you link hands with either of them.

This. It feels different.

They all but pulled you inside, the destination already on display and the engine ready to go.

— — —

Cool air kissed your face, greatly contrasting the warm New York temperature. Grass met your feet instead of concrete. Stillness you’d always associate with nature instead of the bustle of busy streets.

“Is the blindfold really necessary?”

You fight the instinct to rip the cloth off your face, but your hands are preoccupied with being held by your companions. River to your left, the Doctor on your right. Their other hands find the small of your back, guiding you forward.

“Almost there, darling,” River assures.

You bite back a groan. One foot in front of the other as best as you could. Each one was wobbly; unsure of debris blocking your path. The hands along your back tighten, trying to steer your uncoordinated body towards the destination.

You smell the familiar scent of firewood in the air before you hear the crackling.

The walking stops and hands leave your body. You hear the rustling of fabric and stray giggles of the Doctor. River hushes him.

Your fingers twitch at your side. The cotton of the Doctor’s bow tie is soft yet strangely secure on your head. You're trying to piece together what they’re trying to show you. Nothing seems to add up. Is it a holiday? A prank? Was it a birthday?

You hear footsteps and feel two hands on your shoulders.

“Keep your eyes close, yeah?” the Doctor whispers, tugging his bow tie off your eyes.

You sigh, “Doctor, what are you trying to do?”

The Doctor doesn’t respond. You don’t know his facial expression or any sort of clue towards his motivations. But you feel the gentle hold of his hand. Warm palms picking up your fingers, thumb tracing the peaks of your knuckles and the valleys of your skin.

Almost like…

“Ready,” River announced, a bit distant from where you are standing.

The Doctor leans close, his hair tickling your temple, “Open your eyes.”

It took you a few blinks to adjust your eyes. The inky darkness of night contrasts the warm, inviting fire light.

River stands next to a picnic blanket with the most lush pillows you’ve ever seen. Movie snacks are piled in the corner and in the middle a neatly wrapped box with an obnoxious bow. In front of the picnic blanket was a small, orange fire surrounded by a ring of rocks. The flames crackle loudly, providing warmth against the lowering temperature.

“What…How? Why?” Was all you could muster. You take a few steps closer, unsure of how to process this.

You focus on the box. Dark wrapping paper with shining gold stars to accent. The flickering fire made the glitter on the stars twinkle. The bow nearly swallowed the top of the box with ribbons cascading down. Your eyes flicker to the pile of snacks. Your favorite snacks. Even some ramen packets.

The Doctor spoke up, “Hope you’re not too full from the pizza. Though, come to think of it, we may have left the drinks back in the TARDIS. River suggested wine but I’m already buzzed from my own endorphins.” His words were a bit fast, almost nervous.

“But why? Is there something special about today?” you ask.

River smiled, “November, 1826.”

There’s something familiar about the date. It tickled your memory, but nothing clear.

“Our first adventure together. The three of us,” The Doctor clarified.

It felt as though the Doctor’s words swept all air from your lungs. Of course, how could you forget?

You are certain it was years ago. Keeping track of time on the TARDIS is finicky at best, but you felt the time pass as evident by the scars on your skin and fine lines dotting your face. You were still wide-eyed and naive, not yet comprehending the dangers of the universe. The Doctor was still odd and new to be around; still getting used to your presence at his side.

There was a galactic cruise ship, nearly swallowing Pluto in size. Parts of the memory are hazy in your mind. You forget if it’s you that urged the Doctor to go or the Doctor dragging you out. Whatever the case was, you found yourself onboard and immediately lost, tipsy from the wine given.

River found you then. It wasn’t ‘til later that you realized that River was actually seeking you out. In your eyes, it was the first time seeing her. To her, she had already had a tone of familiarity when your name rolled off her tongue.

Turns out River had organized a heist to return stolen goods that were aboard the cruise ship. Fighting and mishaps ensued until the Doctor managed to hoard the goods aboard the TARDIS and return them to their rightful spots.

At the end of it all, the three of you had just so happened to be above the Earth at the same time as Biela’s comet.

You remember your legs dangling off the edge of the TARDIS, dark splotches along your legs where bruises formed. The Doctor and River lean against the doorframe, silent in their awe. The first of many mishaps and adventures the three of you would create.

They took you to the exact day—the exact time—

“Why?” you whispered. Everything came rushing all at once. Stolen glances, longing stares, the uncomfortable beat of your heart. Memories of the three of you or just intimate moments with either of them. You swallow the lump in your throat, “I just…don’t understand.”

The Doctor took your hands once again. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze.

“We love you (Y/N). For a while now, actually.”

His delicate words hit you like a gust of wind. Your head snapped up, eyes wide and fearful. The Doctor’s usual happy facade is gone, any humor wiped from the planes of his face entirely. His hands grip onto yours a bit harder, enough to ground you.

After a few moments, your brain finally stills. Anxiety still grips your muscles and tightens your chest, but you manage to sputter your thoughts out coherently.

“I love you guys too,” you grin against the onset of tears starting to fall. You didn’t move your hands from the Doctor’s, so you simply let them cascade down your face. You shakily inhaled, continuing, “For so long I thought you guys wouldn’t feel the same. Even now…”

Two hands appear at your cheeks, thumbs swiping away the salty tears. The Doctor smiles and you don’t mistake the glisten in his eyes as well.

You turn towards River who stands near the blankets with the present pressed tightly against herself. The fire gives her golden hair a bright orange hue, surrounding her with a divine glow. The way she looks at you made your skin flushed; so full of adoration, as if you were the most breath-taking sight.

Stepping towards the blond with the Doctor, you try to meet her gaze head-on. You stopped once you got close enough to see the dilation of her eyes. For a second a flicker of something else flashed in her green eyes.

“Breathe, darling,” she teased. At her command, you let out the breath you were holding. She hands you the box, never breaking eye-contact, “Consider it an anniversary gift.”

The choice of words makes your eyes widen. The box seemed a bit hefty in your hands. You gave it an experimental shake, feeling something large and solid moving. You gripped the end of the ribbon and gave it a tug. Silky ribbon buckled, folding into itself until it completely unraveled and slipped from the box. Pulling open the top you saw a large blue book nestled inside.

TARDIS blue, you noted.

River takes the empty box while the Doctor ushered you onto the picnic blanket. There were no words embellished that gave any indication as to what the book was about. Flipping the cover open, you were met with a mostly blank page, save for the text stamped in the middle:

“For the love of our many lives. A companion, friend, and most importantly, the reason the Universe doesn’t seem so cold.”

Tears nearly blurred your vision, but you managed to wipe them away to flip to the next page.

A collage of photos filled the pages. Some were candid, others in black in white, most of them had you in them. There were pictures you had captured on an old film camera you snagged when you were stuck in the 70s. You were quite surprised to see snapshots of you doing mundane activities. Your head was turned away from the lens, completely focused on some task in front of you. There were a few pictures with you and River and some with all three of you.

Years of memories stored in the pages of the book. Some far back to the earliest days of your travels.

The rest of the night blurred into happy tears and hearty laughs. You snuggled between the two Time Lords flipping through the photo album filled with your fondest memories.

The insecurities felt in the cramped bathroom in the middle of New York seemed so far away. Years of anxiety curdling in your stomach finally bloomed into something sweet. They loved you. They wanted you. They planned everything out for you. You felt it in their gaze, their warm touches.

“Tonight,” the Doctor whispered, “It’s all about you.”

As Biela made her visit, shining brightly amongst the twinkling stars, you realized that somewhere out in the sky, your past selves were observing the same scene.

Staring out into the vast expanse of space, you hoped the love that swelled your heart could be felt millions of miles away. That your shared laughter transcended the atmosphere and carried to the passengers of the TARDIS floating above Earth.

You hoped that somewhere out there, your future selves are looking over, sharing this experience across time and space.

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infamous-light · 1 year

Text

Captured Part II

Dark! Wandanat x Villain/Mutant! F! Reader

Ch. 1

AO3: Captured

Summary: You and your mutant friends have been in hiding due to the havoc you all wreaked over the past few years. One day, you all decided to make your presence known and rob one of the largest federal reserve banks in the U.S.

Unfortunately, things did not go as planned for you.

Word count: 2.4K

Warnings: Mind manipulation, kidnapping

As you slowly regained consciousness, a dull throbbing in your head accompanied your awakening. Your surroundings were unfamiliar – dimly lit and strangely sterile. Blinking away the haziness, you tried to move but found yourself restrained by what seemed to be sturdy metal clamps, strapping your wrists and ankles to an examination table.

As you grappled with your bindings, a peculiar sensation caught your attention. Beneath the oppressive grip of the restraints, you discovered an unexpected sight – silver cuffs encircling your wrists. The cool metal pressed against your skin, a stark contrast to the unforgiving grip of the clamps placed on top of them. These were the very same ones Natasha had used on you to nullify your powers.

Panic began to rise within you, but you tried to calm yourself as you tried to assess the situation.

Your eyes darted around the room, searching for any clues that might offer an explanation, but there was nothing. It was sparsely furnished with a cold, clinical air about it. With every passing moment, the weight of your confinement pressed down on you, the cold metal of the table digging into your skin. Sweat beaded on your forehead, your heart hammering in your chest as your mind raced with questions, each one more urgent than the last.

How did you end up here? Where were your friends? Were they safe?

As your thoughts continued to run wild, the door to the room creaked open, and two figures stepped in. Your heart skipped a beat, uncertainty gripping you tightly as your eyes darted toward them. A surge of fear and confusion swept through you as Wanda and Natasha appeared before you.

“Well, well, look who decided to join the land of the living. Did you have a nice nap?” Natasha's voice held a touch of mockery, making your anger flare up.

“What do you want from me?” You demanded, trying to hide the unease in your voice.

“You.” Wanda uttered with a terrible smile.

She approached your side. There's a palpable tension in the air as she raised her hand, delicate yet purposeful, and pressed it atop your head.

The moment her warm palm connected with your forehead, it was as if a floodgate had been opened, unleashing a torrent of memories and emotions that surged through your consciousness with an irresistible force. Images flashed before your eyes, scenes from your past replaying in vivid detail, each one accompanied by a wave of associated feelings – joy, sorrow, longing, and regret.

The sensation was unsettling. It felt as if she were rummaging through your mind, peeling back the layers of your psyche, exposing vulnerabilities you never knew existed.

“What are you doing?” You demanded.

Determination blazed in your eyes as you resisted her invasive power.

“I'm simply exploring,” Wanda explained casually, as if she were discussing the weather. Though her lips quirked up at her next words. “After all, what's the harm in uncovering a few secrets?”

A chilling unease took hold, tightening its grip around your heart. The air seemed to thicken, suffocating you with its heaviness. Every fleeting memory, once tucked away safely in the recesses of your mind, now felt exposed, touched by an eerie force that stripped away their privacy. The invasion of your thoughts was an intolerable violation and it sickened you to your core.

“You have no right to invade my mind!” You snapped, your defiance growing stronger.

Natasha, who had been silently observing the exchange, stepped forward with a cold smile. “Oh, but we do.” She interjected, her voice dripping with smugness.

You struggled against the intrusion, but Wanda's powers were formidable, and she persisted in her relentless efforts to penetrate your mind.

“You can't hide anything from me.” Wanda taunted, her red eyes glowing brighter.

You gritted your teeth, determined to protect your most intimate thoughts and secrets. With a cruel smirk, Wanda seemed to revel in her partial success. The red mist in her eyes swirled with a mix of arrogance and excitement.

“You're quite stubborn,” she admitted, acknowledging your resistance. “But I can see right through you. You're not as strong as you think.”

“You'll never break me!” You growled.

Wanda's eyes narrowed at your response, but her lips curled into a cold smile a second later. Her powers surged and the pressure in your mind intensified.

“We’ll see.” Wanda whispered, her voice a chilling reminder of the threat she posed.

The weight of Wanda's power bore down on you. It wasn't just her magic that overwhelmed you; it was the sheer intensity of her presence, the raw potency of her emotions that seemed to radiate from her being like waves of heat from a scorching fire. Tears formed in the corner of your eyes as the witch began to slither into the vulnerable cracks of your mind.

The memories of past mistakes and regrets that you had buried deep within yourself resurfaced, amplified by Wanda's manipulation.

“No, no, no.” You whimpered, shaking your head back and forth.

Despite your best efforts to block her out, Wanda's influence proved unyielding.

“There we go.” Wanda cooed, her voice dripping with a twisted sense of satisfaction.

Her hand cupped the side of your face, a gesture that should have been comforting, but instead, it felt like a cold, condescending touch.

“No, please, stop.” You pleaded.

Your voice was barely audible as you begged for relief from the torment. Though your words fell on deaf ears, Wanda continued to tighten her grip further on your mind, savoring the control she had gained. The lines between reality and the illusion she had crafted blurred, leaving you trapped deep into the abyss of your own mind, a nightmarish dance orchestrated by her chaos magic.

Your thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind, swept away by the overwhelming force of her power. You tried to fight it, to cling to the last shreds of your sanity, but it was futile. In an instant, your mind was wiped clean, a blank canvas ready to be painted with Wanda’s desires.

“Is it done?” Natasha asked in a low voice.

“Yes. She won't be aware of where she is or who she is. She'll be a docile little thing.” Wanda said in a monotone manner.

Her gaze was fixed upon you with a sense of superiority. Your once confident demeanor now morphed into a bewildered expression. It amused the witch, the way your thoughts stumbled over themselves like lost wanderers in an unfamiliar terrain. Your eyes, wide and searching, mirrored the vulnerability of a lost little doe navigating the shadows of an enchanted forest, desperately seeking some sort of safe haven.

“Good. Let’s get her out of these restraints.” Natasha stated.

Her hands moved swiftly as she undid the metallic clamps that were wrapped around your wrists and ankles. With a sigh of relief, you felt the weight of the restraints lift from your limbs as Natasha guided you to sit in an upright position. As you looked down, your frown deepened at the sight of a pair of sleek, silver cuffs adorning your wrists.

“What are these? Can you take them off? You asked, your voice tinged with confusion and concern.

Natasha's response was gentle but firm. “No, baby. Those need to stay on. Do you remember how your powers would get out of control? It’s to help you with that.”

Though the words were meant to reassure you, they only added to the fog of uncertainty that clouded your mind. You tried to recall the moment you all previously discussed this, but your memories were hazy, like fragments of a shattered mirror reflecting an incomplete image. No matter how hard you tried to fit them together, there were always pieces missing.

“Your powers can be overwhelming at times. These cuffs are designed to keep them in check, so you don't hurt yourself or others.” Wanda chimed in, her voice smooth and persuasive.

“Oh, ok.”

A part of you wanted to question them further but each time you attempted to push through the mental barrier, your thoughts faltered and retreated.

“You'll be safe with us, just as we will be safe with you.” Natasha reassured, placing a hand on your thigh as if to anchor you in their presence.

Though their words were comforting, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss.

Wanda's smile was sweet as she coaxed you with gentle words, “Come on, darling. Let's get you settled into bed.”

You slid off the table with shaky legs. Both women had a firm grip on your upper arms, their touch offering stability until you could regain your sense of balance again.

As you took cautious steps alongside Natasha and Wanda, the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead bathed the hallway in an almost ethereal glow. It was in this quiet moment that a nagging question began to gnaw at your thoughts, like a persistent itch just beyond your reach.

“How did I end up on that table?”

Natasha glanced at you with a sympathetic smile. “Unfortunately, you had one of those moments where your powers became unstable, but Wanda managed to stabilize it before things got too out of hand. It was a close call.”

Wanda nodded in agreement. “Your abilities are extraordinary but sometimes they can be a bit unpredictable. We've seen it happen before and we've learned how to handle it.”

As you processed this information, a peculiar haze settled over your mind. It was a feeling that was difficult to articulate, like a vague disquiet that tiptoed around the edges of your awareness.

Unbeknownst to you, Wanda observed your unease. With a soft smile, she reached out and gave your arm a gentle rub, as if to offer comfort. The touch, though reassuring, carried an underlying energy that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

Natasha raised a sharp eyebrow at her, but Wanda gave the assassin a slight shake of her head, the movement barely perceptible. The air around them seemed to vibrate with an unspoken understanding.

Eventually, you all came to a stop in front of an open door that led into a bedroom.

As you stepped into the bedroom, the inviting ambiance instantly embraced you. The soft lighting bathed the room in a warm glow. It seemed to breathe life into the space, illuminating every corner. The walls were adorned with an array of captivating paintings, each one telling a story of its own.

You stepped further inside. The bed, nestled in the corner, beckoned to you, its inviting presence tempting you to surrender to its comfort. Yet, even amidst the allure of the soft sheets and plush pillows, a part of you resisted, a tiny voice within that whispered for you to run.

Natasha stood near the doorway, her piercing gaze fixed squarely on you. Though she appeared composed, you sensed a watchful vigilance behind her demeanor, as if ready to intervene should you attempt anything.

“Isn't this bedroom lovely?” Wanda stated, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “We've always had an eye for beauty.”

You nodded, trying to find the right words to respond, but your thoughts felt clouded. Sensing your hesitation, Wanda grabbed your hand and guided you toward the massive bed. Without a word, she led you across the room, her steps confident and sure.

The sight of it alone was enough to soothe some of the tension coiled within you. Wanda moved you to its edge, her touch reassuring as you sank onto the mattress. The softness cradled your body, momentarily lulling you into a sense of tranquility.

Wanda took a seat beside you and Natasha remained standing, both watching you with an intensity that sent goosebumps across your skin. It was as if they were studying you.

“We'll take good care of you.” Wanda murmured, her hand resting on yours.

As she leaned down, her intent clear in the softness of her gaze, you instinctively turned your head at the last second, redirecting her kiss to your right cheek. The touch of her lips against your skin felt foreign and uncomfortable, like a violation of your personal boundaries.

Wanda pulled back; her brows knitted together in a slight frown. It was as if her attempt at affection had been met with an unexpected obstacle, something she did not anticipate.

“I-I'm sorry.” You stammered, feeling a twinge of guilt for not accepting her gesture as intended.

Her hand glided from your own, tracing a chilling path up your forearm, before tightening her grip.

“Give me a kiss.” Wanda commanded, her tone absent of warmth and laced with an unsettling coldness.

Despite the conflict raging within you, something deep down compelled you to obey. As if under a spell, you turned your head and allowed Wanda to capture your lips with her own.

The kiss was cold and empty, devoid of any genuine emotion or connection. It felt as though you were going through the motions, following a script written by someone else. As Wanda pulled away, a self-satisfied smile crept back onto her face.

Natasha watched the scene with a calculating gaze. Her expression remained unreadable.

“It’s time for you to get some rest.” Natasha interrupted. “We’ll join you in a moment.”

You hesitated, feeling a sense of unease creeping into your voice as you processed her words.

“Wait, I’m not sleeping alone?” You questioned, your mind racing with possibilities, each one more unsettling than the last.

Natasha's amusement was evident in the smirk that danced on her lips. “No, you're not.”

Wanda let out a chuckle. As you looked at them, you realized that their intentions were far from innocent. A rush of embarrassment washed over you and the heat spread across your cheeks like wildfire.

Wanda's teasing tone cut through the air like a blade. “Aw, look, Nat, she's so shy.” She mocked and Natasha responded with a pleased hum.

Feeling the weight of their gazes upon you, you turned onto your side, facing away from them as they laughed at you. You heard the bathroom light switch on as Natasha's voice broke through the silence.

“Alright, I'm going to get changed.” She declared with an air of nonchalance.

Wanda remained seated on the edge of the bed. Her fingers began to toy with a few strands of your hair, and you couldn’t help but unwind under her touch.

“You need to relax, dear. Everything will be fine.” Wanda said in a soft tone.

Though you couldn’t see it, Wanda's lips curled into a sly smirk as she observed the effect her touch had on you. Sitting there, her fingers lightly grazing your scalp, she could feel the tension in your muscles melt away.

With a soft exhale, you found yourself leaning into her touch, craving more.

#natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wandanat x reader #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #marvel #scarlet witch #natasha romanov #dark wanda x reader #dark natasha x reader #scarlet witch x reader

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chelemlem · 8 months

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scouring your blog for more characterisation on lando/oscar dynamic.... the not correcting mispronunciations blew my mind wide open. do you have any other wise takes

hello anon :3 pretty sure i've mentioned all of this in some capacity b4 and much has been covered in depth by greater scholars than myself but here are some 814 charactization quirks i'm fond of ↓

oscar resignedly accepting his own attraction to lando but choosing not to act on it because well..... it is what it is. in his mind being 4 tenths off his teammate is a more immediately pressing matter than lando fake moaning from an icebath 2 feet away [clenched fists]

lando subtly looking out for oscar, especially march-may of last year because he distinctly remembers his own rookie season (see: the "it's a lot, isn't it" exchange in the melbourne unboxed, giving oscar endless opportunities to redeem himself in challenges etc). i think part of it was him not knowing how much of oscar's quietness was a factor of the explosive feeder series to f1 jump and how much is his actual personality but wanting him to feel comfortable either way. also just lando being endlessly curious about this guy who is just a guy... because oscar is lowkey a lot funnier (to lando) than the general public's flat/boring diagnosis gives him credit for

a sort of blase level of comfort and wordless communication (see: virgin radio with zak brown) and also in general communicating via just. noises (the yes/no challenge is an esp egregious example of this like why are u bleating at each other. nvm) to borrow an oscar term here: they're low-frequency! bc while lando has a tendency to match the energy of whoever he's with (vs oscar who's pretty much always the same lol) imo at their core 814 are both different flavours of introverts so when they're together it's just kinda. chill

oscar being deeply tolerant of all of lando's idiosyncrasies and even assimilating to his rhythm... eating the same pre-race meal as lando/changing his answer's to match lando's in the who's most likely to vid/listening to lando's music through their shared wall/"are you ready oscar piastri" "i'm ready lando norris"... insanity

a measurable give and take because as indulgent as oscar can be he will rib lando and give him if not a hard time certainly A Time. basically oscar having a spine... but also bending to lando's whims... it's a fine balance

rating each other as drivers...... sure oscar is a well-socialized young man who can (occasionally) pretend net competence has a lot of moving parts and lando genuinely likes a lot of people he doesn't rate (real) but when it boils down to it the fact that they both think v highly of the others' skill as drivers (oscar constantly calling lando one of the quickest guys on the grid, lando saying his recent run of form is in part due to oscar being good enough in his own right to push him, "i mean, he already is") adds a whole new layer of intrigue. bc even when they get along there's that undercurrent of caution/what's he gonna do next/etc and who kneowsss how this aspect of their relationahip is going to evolve over the next three (3!!!) years together as teammates but i for one can't wait to watch :')

they barely (if ever) touch. compelling 2 Me

#sorry if none of this makes sense i typed it on my phone half-delirious waiting for the train #landoscar #when writing fic i try not to overthink characterization choices and just go w what instinctively feels right #but imo there's merit to having it all consolidated in one place for a refresher should i need it so thank u for this ask <33 #ln4 #op81 #answered

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leiawritesstories · 2 months

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swords and sea breezes, 2

a continuation of swords and sea breezes, owed in large part to @renxzs for encouraging the whole mess <3

word count: 1.9k

warnings: none....i think...

enjoy!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aelin blinked in surprised confusion and crossed her arms across her chest. "I have absolutely no idea what on earth you're talking about."

The pirate--Rowan--dropped down into the leather-covered armchair beside the desk, lazily propped one booted foot on the opposite knee, and raised his eyebrows. "It'll go better for you if you tell me the truth, my lady."

"Since you're apparently deaf," she retorted, "I'll have to repeat myself. I don't know what the hell you mean, 'that island my fiancé is hiding.' Besides, His Highness and I are not particularly well acquainted. You'd likely have better luck tracking down this mythical fantasy island of yours if you captured someone who actually knows him."

"There's the woman who tried to jump out a porthole." A delighted grin broke across Rowan's face. "Well then, I should inform you that my men and I have already had some friendly little chats with Prince Dorian's soldiers."

"Why do I doubt there was anything friendly about those chats?" Aelin's question was dry enough to suck water out of the ocean.

Rowan shrugged, the pirate incarnate. "The soldiers are still alive, and I'd call that friendly enough." He leaned forward and propped his chin on his fists. "Only one of them knew something useful--there is an island, and the Havilliards are hiding it, and you, my lady, either know about it and are choosing to make this difficult or you are truly unaware that it exists, in which case I'll simply exchange the prince one beautiful, unharmed bride for the location of his little paradise."

The casual, conversational nature of the pirate's voice chilled her to her core. "Why are you so adamant that you get to this supposed island, pirate? Don't you have enough wealth already?"

"I've given you my name, my lady," Rowan smirked. "The least you can do is use it." He paused, his gaze turning sharp and calculating. "The island isn't about wealth or riches, though I wouldn't be opposed to a few more crates of gold. It's about what the place hides, my lady."

"Aelin," she said. "Don't pretend you have any manners, Rowan."

"I think you'll find me and my crew a good deal more well-mannered than any of your parents' fancy court, Aelin," he returned.

That barb lodged itself into a sensitive little corner of her heart, but she refused to let it show on her face. "That remains to be seen."

"As does your knowledge of the island." He grinned at her scoff of frustration. "You're quite good at misdirection, Aelin, but I've been in this game for far longer than you have."

"And you still seem unable to comprehend my words at their face value. I. Don't. Know. I don't know anything about this fairy story you've made up, nor do I know why out of all the ships on this ocean, you chose to attack mine." Sparks kindled behind her eyes, the heat of her frayed temper creeping up her throat, but she tamped down on that anger, forced it back into its locked iron box.

Rowan stood up, and she silently cursed her eyes for tracking the lazy, predatory grace of his movements. "Then I suppose we're done with this conversation for now. Enjoy your time on the Queen's Cadre, my lady. The ship is open to you." He strolled out, leaving the door flung wide.

"Damned pirates," Aelin grumbled. She swung her stiff legs out of the bed, grateful that whoever had dumped her there had left her in her skirt and blouse but removed her boots, which had been carefully placed on a low shelf next to the bed. There was a cabinet built into the wall beside the shelf, and to her surprise, its shelves contained clean, crisply folded ladies' clothes.

She hadn't had a full minute to wonder about the presence of that kind of clothing on a pirate ship before a sudden, cheerful voice made her jerk around with a gasp. "You're awake!"

Aelin pressed her hands to her throat as if she could push her heart back down from where it had leapt. "I...yes?"

"Well, that's reassuring." The dark-haired woman in Aelin's room closed the door behind herself and sized Aelin up. "Whitethorn is in an unusually good mood today, so thank you for that."

"I sincerely hope I had nothing to do with that," Aelin said dryly. "Who are you, and what the hell kind of ship is this?"

The petite woman threw back her head and laughed. "Oh, I like you!" She tossed her thick braid over one shoulder and extended her hand. "Elide Lochan, best sharpshooter on the Cadre and proud wife to the biggest grouch on board. I'm sure you already know we're pirates."

"Hmmm, yes. The cannons and the massive black flag did give me a hint," Aelin drawled. "Please don't tell me I kicked you out of your room, Elide."

"Oh, not at all!" Elide gestured to the cabinet of clothing. "I've picked up quite the collection of clothes over the years, but many of them aren't tailored for women of my height. You're welcome to anything you want, but I recommend trousers." She winked. "They're easier to get around in, and easier to hide a knife in."

"My kind of clothes," Aelin joked. "Thank you."

Elide grinned. "Anything for a noble lady of the Galathynius house."

Aelin groaned. "Could we not bring my entire lineage into this? It seems that everyone here knows of me." She reached into the cabinet and pulled out a soft cotton blouse and a pair of dark brown pants, running her fingers over the material.

"Well, you are quite recognizable." Elide touched Aelin's ruined braid, the messy waves that tumbled down her back. "Here, though, nobility and rankings don't matter--well, unless you're my husband or the captain, because the two of them are always having an authority pissing contest."

Aelin snickered. "From what I know of Rowan after one conversation, that sounds exactly like him."

"Absolutely insufferable." Elide turned around so Aelin could change, and she went over to the desk and came back with a hairbrush. "Here."

"Thank you." Aelin unraveled the few remaining strands of her braid, and a small cloth packet fell into her hand. She glanced at the crumbled powder inside the little pouch, and a grin unfolded across her face as an idea rapidly took shape in her mind. "Elide?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you have scissors?"

"What the fuck, Whitethorn?" Lorcan barged into Rowan's office, his usual scowl etched across his face.

Rowan set down the compass he'd been using to plot lines across the maps spread out on his desk and fixed his right-hand man with a long-suffering look. "What the fuck what, Lorcan Lochan?" He never could resist ribbing Lorcan about his married name.

"You tell me." Lorcan glared at Rowan. "What the fuck is the Galathynius heir doing on our ship, and why the fuck has my wife become such close friends with her in half a day?"

"Aelin Ashryver Galathynius is how we get to the Havilliard island, and as for what she and Elide are doing, maybe your wife is just happy to have another woman aboard." Dismissively, Rowan turned his attention back to his maps.

"Bullshit," Lorcan grunted. "But fine. Maybe Li is just happy that there's another woman. Though I think the fucking knives they've been throwing at our fucking dart board have more to do with that."

"Fucking gods--" Rowan dropped his compass and pen with a clatter and stormed out of his office and up to the deck, shoving his way past the handful of his crewmen who were gathered around the--

Fuck. Him.

Aelin wore fitted pants that clung to the lines of her lean legs and a simple blouse that was belted at the waist. With a clean flick of her wrist, she sent a small, slim knife whistling through the air, and the blade lodged itself just beneath a longer one near the center of the dart board. Elide whooped, and Aelin brushed a strand of wine-red hair...

Her hair was red. Not red, fucking wine colored, a deep, rich, almost burgundy hue that soaked up the sunlight. And the loose, wavy strands barely brushed her shoulders, when Rowan could swear that her messy golden-blonde braid had almost reached her hips when he carried her down to her cabin the night before.

He was going to punch the next crewman who looked at Aelin's legs in both eyes, right after he made that man regret even thinking about Aelin's legs. And now he was thinking about Aelin's legs. Preferably wrapped around his shoulders with her head arched back while she yelled his name to the gods.

Fucking hell.

"I see you've made yourself at home, my lady," he drawled.

Aelin whirled around, knife raised in one fist while the other curved slightly behind her hips in an oddly familiar gesture that prickled at a corner of Rowan's brain. In the afternoon sun, her hair picked up a brighter red tint, almost like flames around her head. "Elide kindly agreed to help me with my throwing form," she replied as her tense, defensive posture relaxed. "Though I'm sure that you're going to impose some arbitrary restriction against me throwing knives now that you've discovered it."

A corned of his lips tugged upwards. "And deny both me and my crew the delight of your obvious skill? Hell no." He turned to address his crew. "Gents, and Elide, this here is Aelin, and she's going to get us to that island we've been seeking."

Lorcan made an unimpressed sound. "She's going to get us to Doranelle?"

Rowan narrowed his eyes at the taller man. "Yep."

Aelin coughed softly, drawing his attention back to her. "Well, as entertaining as this was, I get the sense that I should go." Before he could stop her, she ducked down the hatch and slipped out of sight.

She'd lodged the desk chair beneath the door handle before she went to bed, but Aelin still startled each time a set of booted feet thudded past her door. Stars blinked into view as night's darkness settled over the ocean, and she gazed out the small porthole window up into the sky, tracing the paths of the constellations.

Unlike most others, she had never needed maps when she had the stars.

Aelin wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and leaned against the cool wood of the cabin wall, allowing the soothing lap of the waves rushing past the ship's hull to calm her mind. It had been a close brush with danger up there on the deck, those brief seconds when Rowan had interrupted her and Elide's throwing session and she'd almost launched that knife into his throat.

It had been an even closer brush with danger when Elide's husband Lorcan--the tall, dark-haired, scowling man next to Rowan, who Elide had pointed out--had let the name of the island slip. Rowan had glared at his right-hand man, probably because he had wanted to name the island the next time he came to press Aelin for information she wouldn't give him, and she was able to hide the flash of shock that had jolted her at hearing the word.

Doranelle.

She hadn't set foot on that tiny, beautiful, cleverly isolated island in far too long. And with the stars lighting the sky above, she wouldn't need a map to finally reach it again. Nor did she need Dorian Havilliard, despite his benevolent intentions, to protect Doranelle's secrets. As her betrothed, and as a distantly related descendant of the Galathynius family line, Dorian had been entrusted with keeping the near-mythical island behind its veils.

Aelin's whole being yearned to see the island again.

But until she knew that Rowan Whitethorn and his crew of pirates would honor what the island protected, she could not let him go there with her.

~~~

tags:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@aelinschild

@renxzs

#my writing #swords and sea breezes #pirate au #more pirates lmao #rowaelin #aelin galathynius #aelin ashryver galathynius #rowan whitethorn #aelin x rowan #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass #queen of shadows #empire of storms #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass fanfiction

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sylveriasarcana · 1 month

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The Passenger Scene Analysis: "Everything's cool, right Randy?"

Today I'm so tired I can't move from my comfy chair so naturally it's time to once again talk about my favourite hostage situation romcom The Passenger!

I wanna talk about the power shift that happens between Benson and Randy later in the movie after Benson encounters Sheppard again, specifically the scene in the car after the parking lot beating. I recommend reading the post I made about The Passenger as an allegory for OCD recovery first because this post is gonna abide by that reading. You can check that out here, and my other silly little analysis posts can be found under the #scene analysis tag on my blog if you are so inclined!

As always, please mind the tag warnings, some heavy topics are in this one.

*sigh* Let's talk about fucking Sheppard.

If you're wondering why it took me so long to talk about Sheppard in these posts despite his importance to the story, it's because I don't fucking like him. But he is an important part of this analysis, so now we're gonna talk about him!

Meeting Sheppard is the moment where everything begins to change in The Passenger. The movie begins following Randy, and then less than 20 minutes later, it's become clear that Randy may be the main character, but he's not the one in charge: Benson is. The cinematography in the shooting scene does a great job of setting this up, by the way. Self plug.

In the next hour, we get very used to the situation we've been presented with following the inciting incident with the shooting. Benson is in charge, Randy isn't. Nowhere is this more apparent in the scene at the gas station: Benson leaves Randy alone, and Randy visibly thinks "this is my chance to escape". Then the camera pans around him, and there's nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Just endless empty flat land. Even in a situation where he's been given the power to run away, he can't use it. Where's he gonna go?

Chilling stuff, but what really cements this situation are the moments of normalcy its given. You get the big scary scenes where Benson points a gun at a store clerk while staring Randy down like "run and he dies", but you also get tiny moments of these characters just being very used to the situation they're in, almost comfortable with it. One of my favourite examples of this is right before the audience meets Sheppard; Benson mimics an exploding eyeball to describe Randy's elementary school days to the receptionist and Randy's eyes roll to the back of his head.

Blink and you'll miss it, but it's a great little moment. Not only is it great material for me as a Bitchy Randy truther (bitchy Randy is real and I love him, ok), but it's a moment of... twisted normalcy? Randy has just become so used to this situation he can roll his eyes and accept it for what it is. "Yes, that's my kidnapper, doing a silly little re-enactment of my worst trauma. He's probably gonna drive me around at gunpoint some more after this. This is my life now, I guess."

By this point, Randy, Benson and the audience are all baked into this dynamic of Benson having all the power and Randy having none. It's so commonplace that Randy can both be terrified and just plain exasperated by it. Like he's watching a play that's gone on for a bit too long.

And then, minutes later: Sheppard.

I cannot stress enough how much everything changes when this guy walks down the corridor. Benson immediately tightens and stands up straight, like prey that just heard a twig snapping nearby. That is weird for us. Whoever this guy is, he can't be good news. Who could possibly scare Benson, the scariest person in this movie?

"Mr Sheppard? Elliot Sheppard?"

Benson de-ages about twenty years in this scene, and Randy's noticed it. Something has shaken Benson to his core, and this guy had something to do with it. It's never explicitly stated what happened between Benson and Sheppard, but this exchange makes some things clear: Sheppard was Benson's teacher, he occupies a large enough space in Benson's brain for his full name to haunt him, whatever happened between them happened when Benson was in 3rd grade, and Sheppard doesn't remember him. Sheppard doesn't remember the kid he traumatised. Shit.

And we can definitely assume that whatever Sheppard did to him was fucking awful, because right after this scene Benson beats Sheppard to death in a parking lot.

This is the hardest scene for me to watch in the whole movie. Not because Sheppard doesn't deserve it, but because Jesus Christ, the sounds coming out of Benson are horrifying.

I wouldn't say Benson has been mentally stable up until now, per se, but he's definitely had an illusion of control. He's someone who is very good at pretending they have everything figured out. He spends the movie happily recounting his half-baked socio-political opinions to Randy, confidently deciding where they're going next, telling Randy how important it is to face your past and figure out your shit, and it's... so disturbing seeing all that bravado evaporate so quickly. Benson walks around frantically, shrieking like a wounded animal, and it's the scariest thing in the movie so far. He might be holding Randy hostage but he was the guy that was meant to know what's going on and what happens next. If Benson's lost it, what the hell happens now?

I talked a bit in my first post about how this scene also reveals how far Randy's come over the course of the movie; he is now brave enough to approach Benson while he's waving a gun around and stop him from shooting Sheppard, but interestingly only does it on the grounds that the gun will make noise and attract attention. He never says "Benson, you shouldn't murder a guy in the parking lot". Randy, like us, has picked up on the fact that Sheppard probably did something awful enough to provoke this reaction.

This bravery is going to come in handy in the next scene, because Benson is about to relinquish all control he's had throughout the entire movie.

I've talked before about how when Benson was introduced to the audience, he was facing away from the camera at an awkward angle. When it started becoming apparent that he was the one holding all the cards, he gradually began being shot facing the camera, in full view. Now, after meeting Sheppard, Benson is facing away from us again. Whenever we cut to Randy, we have a full view of his face. Something has changed. Benson's losing control.

This scene parallels an earlier scene where Benson basically gives Randy the abusive boyfriend speech and tells him "I can't have you getting in my way, understand?" and waits for Randy to agree. Here's an excellent gifset that gets that point across!

But something I find really interesting about this scene: Benson seeks reassurance. The way I read this movie, I'd usually expect Randy to do that.

This is where my "Randy has OCD" agenda comes back into play. Oh yeah! Bet you thought I'd forgotten about that! I will never forget, it haunts me, it fuels me, and now you all get to experience that with me-

In short, I think Randy has OCD, and a big thing with OCD is reassurance seeking; asking others if your OCD is right. It's very discouraged in OCD recovery, but a very quick indicator of potential OCD. For example, the diner scene: if you haven't read my other post on this, a quick summary! Randy's OCD theme is essentially "you can't make your own decisions or lives will get ruined". Prior to the diner scene, Randy made a decision: he asked Chris to stop making him uncomfortable. As an indirect result of this, at least in Randy's eyes, lives got ruined: it caused a chain reaction that led to the shooting. In this scene, Randy seeks reassurance: "what does this have to do with me?". Translation, "please tell me the shooting didn't happen because of me". As I've said before, Benson shuts the reassurance seeking down, and that's what makes him my favourite unethical but effective ERP therapist.

But this, right here: this is the moment I knew the power was shifting. Benson does a Randy; he seeks reassurance.

"Everything's cool, right Randy?"

This is the first time Benson has asked for Randy's opinion on any situation, because throughout the movie, Benson has been very clear about the fact that he's in charge and will be making all the decisions. He's just relinquished control here. He's asked Randy, his hostage who has held no power this entire time, to tell him that everything's going to be fine. He's not in charge anymore. He says later that he never was.

Even Randy's perturbed by this. His face says, "You're asking me?". I'm not clear on whether or not Randy knows this, but reassurance giving isn't ideal in most circumstances to do with OCD. He does it anyway, because Jesus Christ. We're not scared of Benson right now, and neither is Randy; we just feel fucking bad for him. Benson does not react well to receiving pity or even the slightest bit of soft spoken sympathy, as we see when he's reacting to Miss Beard later in the movie. But... fuck, he's getting it anyway.

Benson might have spent this whole movie being fucking scary, but seeing all that perceived power he had suddenly die with that one line is just... gut wrenching. It's like seeing your parents cry for the first time: what do you do when the person who's always been in control doesn't have it anymore?

There's suddenly this gaping hole where the power used to be, and later Randy's going to be the one to take it. And this is the scene where it starts; "everything's cool, right Randy?".

Sure, man.

#tw implied csa #tw csa mention #tw csa #tw violence #tw beating #tw death #the passenger #the passenger 2023 #ocd #own post #scene analysis

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tnbc-thoughtsandheadcanons · 3 months

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Conversations with Jack Skellington

From Disney Dreamlight Valley

"How's the Halloween business going?"

JS: I've been ruminating on our traditional Halloween themes...scary skeletons, jack o' lanterns, tell me -- do you have a favorite?

"Skeletons."

JS: How delightful! Or are you flattering me? You don't need to do that, you know. But I do love a good bone rattle. And no one can grin like a skeleton can.

"What are you up to?"

JS: I am practicing my Shakespeare. Would you like to hear a bit?

'Sure!"

JS: 'I recite chilling lines from various plays. Ahem -- let me begin... 'I could a tale unfold whose lightest word, Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand an end, Like quills upon the fretful porpentine!"

"Keep going!"

JS: 'Double, double toil and trouble, Fire burn and cauldron bubble, Fillet of a fenny snake, In the cauldron boil and bake. Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat and tongue of dog, Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting, Lizard leg and owlet's wing!"

"More!"

JS: 'Deep night, dark night, and the silent of the night, the time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs howl, and spirits walk and ghosts break up their graves!"

"I love it"

JS: And now I shall customize one for our dear Valley... 'Alas, poor Mickey! I knew him: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. Where be your gibes now? Your gambols? Your songs? Your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar? Alas! Alas!

'That was wonderful!"

JS: Thank you! You were a lovely audience.

JS: Would you like to join me in some screaming practice?

"Let's do it."

JS: Marvelous! Now we'll start easy. A basic yelp.

"Yip!"

JS: Close! But that's a yip, not a yelp. Try another scream, but longer this time.

"AhhhhHHHHHH"

JS: Oh, I like the ululation - a terrifying touch! Now higher! A proper curdling scream!

JS: That sent shivers down my spine - exquisitely done!

JS: Have you ever felt stuck wearily in the same routine? Where everything seems dull and repetitive? What do you do?

"I change things up!"

JS: Of course! Sometimes you need something new, don't you? To give you novel ideas and a fresh perspective! Though.. Ah... it is good to be prudent about what new things you take on.

"You seem preoccupied."

JS: Friend, I'm sure you've heard that I once tried my hand at running Christmas. Alas, it was quite the disaster. I made so many mistakes, but I'm wondering if there was one fundamental flaw...A central confusion. A core to all the calamity.

"Maybe you let your excitement run away from you."

JS: I certainly did. Enthusiasm is quite powerful. And usually it's good! It animates my frights! Keeps me inspired. But it can sometimes... have a life of its own.

"Does that mean you've learned your lesson?"

JS: Of course. Hmm... but say I hadn't learned my lesson. Would that SCARE you?

"Yes!"

JS: Well then, perhaps...I've learned nothing at all. Ha-ha-ha!

"What are you up to, Jack?"

JS: I've been considering recruiting new fright-makers for Halloween. Do any of our Valley friends strike you as particularly scary?

"Definitely Ursula."

JS: A witch? That's perfect! And she had such a majestic presence. Oh... she'll likely want something in exchange for working with us.

"True, I guess you'd want someone who's in it for the joy of scaring people."

JS: Exactly!

"What's going on?"

JS: My search for new Halloween fright-makers continues! Do you have any suggestions for me?"

"Scar would be great."

"Penny for thoughts, Jack?"

JS: Now that has real potential to be terrifying! If only he weren't so cruel about it... Halloween is about scaring people, not hurting their feelings!

JS: I need your help thinking up some new ideas for Halloween. You know, fresh insights. Topical terrors. Contemporary creepiness.

"Vampires."

JS: You're right! Vampires have been experiencing a sort of renaissance. Which is charming, as many of them were around for the renaissance! But I do have colleagues back in Halloween Town who are vampires. SO I feel that territory is well-covered.

#the nightmare before christmas #jack skellington #nightmare before christmas #tim burton #disney #disney dreamlight valley #halloween #october #henry selick #scar #ursula #fall #quotes #ddlv #tnbc

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fatfundiplover · 15 days

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Hi y'all, finally making a pinned post!!!!! I am nonbinary/genderfluid, bisexual, T4T, polyamorous, mid 20s, and use they/them pronouns. ***This blog is 18+ ONLY***

I am a fat liberationist at my core. I was blessed with finding fat liberation as a teen while in eating disorder treatment, and am honored to incorporate fat liberation into my professional work too. I am here for the people who have known fat liberation most of their life, and for those just learning that fatness isn't shameful. Feedism cannot exist without fat liberation, and fat liberation could not be where it is without the work of feedists 💖

I have always been an FA. I started out as a feedee, but eventually found a love for encouraging too. I love weight gain and will happily participate in it however makes sense: gainer, encourager, mutual gainer...if someone is trying to get fatter, or someone is being appreciated for their fatness then I'm happy 😋

I'm big on dom/sub dynamics, and I'm a dom-leaning switch. My happy place is being a mommy/daddy dom, but I love exploring new dynamics. I love subbing to good doms and it makes me melt when someone can turn my sub brain on. Some other related/unrelated kinks I'm into: tight/outgrown clothes, before and afters, being worshipped, pregnancy/lactation, exploring and indulging people's darker kinks with them.

Non kink wise I have a dog but am a cat person at heart lol. I value veganism and live a mostly vegan lifestyle, but food wise I sometimes eat vegetarian due to my ED history. I love reading and my faves are horror and psychological thrillers. I love to crochet and knit clothes for my fat body, and make gifts for loved ones! I play Bee Swarm Simulator (happy Beesmas lol) and some chill switch games.

Happy to find new flirty friends of all kinds to chat, encourage, and exchange pics with 🥰

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bloomandcoffee · 1 year

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So about "uninvited"...

Context: this is the song that plays when Joshua and Dion first meet right after Titan's defeat.

Ya'll I want you to know first hand that if you play the song synchronized with their reunion like in the game, the song, which ends in violins ends when Dion says "I thought you long dead".

Because of course it would.

Anyways! First thing to point out is that Joshua's leitmotif's refrains in this song are done in freaking acoustic guitar a.k.a. one of, if not the go to instrument for romantic melodies. So Soken certainly made A Choice™️.

Not to mention it was deliberate. All of Joshua's leitmotifs are in piano (or a cappella, for that one poignant scene in Clive's acceptance), not strings. Do you know whose leitmotifs are in strings? Dion's. So you could argue Joshua is trying to match up the wavelength of Dion, trying (and successfully, you'll see) speak to him in the same (musical) language and reach him in the way Dion's core knows.

Now onto the music proper. The song starts before the phoenix appears even if you can't notice in the cutscene. It starts with tense violin. Again, violin solo is indicative of Dion. Tense violin = Dion's tense, no wonder why.

You can even hear brass instruments in the background of the tense violin. A foreshadowing, of how all of this tension will eventually become.

But not just tense violin. It's actually a tension that would be carried across multiple phrases if not because suddenly Joshua enters with his freaking guitar theme.

So Joshua's theme starts as he enters the tent. It's guitar, but it isn't tense. There's melancholy and the accords of course aren't the most romantic ones (because of course Soken wouldn't make it more obvious.) The melody however carries and most importantly, the violin in the background starts to mellow.

it is also very important to note that: First guitar refrain: reaches poignant chord Joshua: pardon the intrusion your highness /bows (synchronized with the music btw)

First guitar refrain: reaches following chord Dion: I know you

In fact, there's an entire musical dialogue in their verbal exchange. First guitar refrain: reaches last chord Dion: At ease!

Second guitar refrain: starts Dion: we're in the presence of the Phoenix

Ya'll we have music dialogue with Dion continuing to speak inside the phoenix guitar refrains while his musical cues (violin) mellow

Second guitar refrain: reaches third cord Joshua: I hope I'm not interrupting Second guitar refrain: reaches last cord Dion: Not at all and then cue mellowed out strings for the rest of the song. it keeps the note, but it isn't tense.

In the two guitar refrains of this song we have:

Greetings, recognition, Protection demonstration of non aggression

Presentation, inquiry, reassurance

Joshua gets to hold and care for the fallen Wyverntail while Dion's mellowed out strings play in the background and inquires about their past connection. Then the melody fades gently.

Meme analysis of this is pretty much Dion: * is tense * Joshua: * serenades with Guitar * Dion: * is a bit chilled out*

It's hilarious because either my ears aren't that good (which hey, fair af) or the last 4 seconds of this track are silent.

Why would you leave 4 more seconds of silence???? This may be just me going delulu, but do know what happens between those 4 seconds of silence?

Joshua: Twenty? Dion: I thought you long dead

Look, all I'm saying is that if the musical conversation reached a duet at the end, nobody would deny there was some romantic tension and resolution.

#another song analysis!#song meta #but short and sweet #ffxvi #phoenixflare #joshua rosfield #dion lesage

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laurenairay · 9 months

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I never thought - P. Grubauer

Summary: Meeting Philipp Grubauer was the last thing Sera expected.

This is my entry for @wyattjohnston’s winter fic exchange 2024. I had the joy of writing for @knifeshoeboys – I really hope you like this Philipp Grubauer story, Nicole! I had a lot of fun creating this sweet piece from all of your prompts.

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: fluff, slight anxiety, mildly secret romance

Title from On Purpose by Sabrina Carpenter

Sera liked her routine. Monday to Friday she worked from 8.30am to 5pm as the receptionist in one of the biggest law firms in Seattle. Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, she went straight to the gym after work, cycling from the office, rotating her workouts between legs, arms, and core. Saturday mornings were back to the gym for a yoga class at 8am, before driving her car to the grocery store on the loop back to her apartment. It was predictable. It was safe. It was boring.

But at least she always knew what to expect.

It was just her luck that she couldn’t control the weather, really. Even more her luck that she’d left her umbrella in her car in stead of putting it in her gym bag – and that she’d parked on the other side of the parking lot. As Sera left the gym after her Saturday yoga class at the beginning of November, the rain was pouring down in sheets, and she knew without a doubt that she would get soaked to the bone, unable to shake the chill for hours. She could only imagine how badly the waves in her dark hair would be tangled after traipsing through this downpour.

But just as she was steeling herself to step out of the gym doors, she heard a groan of disbelief from behind her.

“Oh man, it’s really coming down, isn’t it?”

The light accent – definitely European – caught her attention, and she turned her head to see a tall handsome man smiling wryly at her. As her blue eyes locked with his hazel ones, she felt her breath hitch in her throat, and she couldn’t help herself from smiling back at him.

“Not a great start to the weekend, no,” she mused.

He barked out a laugh, making her stomach flutter with butterflies, even more so when he flashed a grin at her while he rooted in her his own gym bag. After only a breath, the sweetly-smiling man pulled out an umbrella with a triumphant ‘hah!’, making her laugh, earning another grin.

“I was not looking forward to walking all the way across the parking lot in this,” he said, grimacing as he wiggled the umbrella at the deluge outside.

“Yeah, I’m still trying to psych myself up to do that,” she said, grimacing in turn.

“Oh damn, I thought you were waiting for someone,” he admitted, “Did you want to share my umbrella with me?”

That sweet simple gesture, innocent and genuine, set her heart racing like nothing she could ever remember. How could she turn down such a kind offer from a gentleman?

“I’d like that, if it’s not too much trouble,” she said, smiling softly, “It’s not like I’ll take up much room.”

The man just laughed as she waved her hand between them, him clearly towering over her 5ft self.

“I’m Philipp, by the way,” he grinned.

Philipp. It suited him.

“Sera.”

Sera had never been one for surprises, or going with the flow. After most of her childhood spent watching her mother – her beloved hippie artist mother – drift along with no real direction, just seeing where the wind took the two of them, Sera had always craved control. Now that she was 30 years old and living on her own, Sera finally had it. True, she had mellowed out over the past few years, not needing everything to be excruciatingly perfect anymore, but that routine had always helped ease her anxieties.

Philipp Grubauer had been the biggest surprise she never knew she needed.

After that fateful meeting at the gym six weeks ago, the two of them having exchanged phone numbers with shy smiles as they stopped by her car, they’d spoke nearly every single day – and not just text messages either. Full-on phone calls, even down to facetiming each other while they each cooked dinner just to spend that low-maintenance time together, their schedules not always allowing face to face time so early on in getting to know each other.

And then there were the dates.

A dinner every week. Several coffee dates telling stories and giggling over lattes. Even a night out at the ballet, Sera never having seen The Nutcracker and Philipp insisting that he took her to enjoy the Christmas magic. She didn’t know where this man had been all her life, but if being single this long meant waiting for him? Well, the wait was definitely worth it.

Philipp was so easygoing, adapting to her obvious anxieties with ease as he went, but not just coasting along. He slotted into her routine perfectly, timings calls and dates around her typical timings and his own hockey schedule – even joining her in the gym for a yoga class, showcasing his extraordinary flexibility – but still encouraging her to try new things. He was funny, sweet, and genuinely interesting, and Sera found herself eagerly anticipating every moment they spent together. There was just one thing though – he had never ventured further than kissing her cheek and holding her hand.

Maybe it was just her anxieties talking. Maybe it was a European thing. Maybe he really was just that much of a gentleman. But if she didn’t say something soon, she felt like she was going to burst. Sera just liked him so much, and she didn’t want to ruin their blossoming relationship by stewing in her own head.

If only she could find the right moment.

Mid-December rolled around before Sera even realised it, her office Christmas party making her realise just how close to the holidays the year had come. Philipp had even woken her up with fresh pastries and coffee from the bakery down the street from her apartment, the two of them making plans for him to come over to hers for the first time for a chilled day, Sera knowing she would most likely have some form of hangover (and she had been right in that fact), but still wanting to see him while he had a free Saturday. She’d even forgone her usual Saturday yoga class, which, if nothing else, told her exactly her fast she was falling for him.

“You are a godsend, Philipp Grubauer,” she groaned, accepting the almond croissant from him with a smile.

He just grinned, sitting down next to her on the sofa in silence. Not only was this the first time that he was at her apartment, it was also the first time that they’d seen each other in loungewear, both in a sweatpants and sweater combination, something that made Sera smile at the direction their relationship was taking. It just felt right.

They talked about her office Christmas party, about his upcoming game in Nashville, about his teammates new babies, about her looking forward to a week’s break between Christmas and the New Year, all while eating their pastries and drinking their coffee. It was easy, and comfortable, and domestic, and yet it still sent electricity running through her veins like nothing ever had. What was it about Philipp that sent her into such a tizzy? Whatever it was though, she liked it. She really liked it.

“There was something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Philipp said, putting down his plate after a short silence.

“Oh?” Sera asked, putting down her own plate on the coffee table too.

“Would you come to my team christmas party with me?”

She inhaled sharply, lips parting in surprise, and Philipp quickly barrelled onwards with a wince.

“I know we’ve only known each other six weeks, but things have been going really well, right? And…I see a future between us, and normally I wouldn’t bring anyone to meet my teammates and their partners so soon, but…well, not that I’ve brought anyone in the years I’ve been in Seattle, but I would really like you to meet them? It's an informal thing really, at Belly's house, but all the guys will be there. Burky’s mostly house-trained now, and Larss will keep Dunner on a leash, and Yanni’s wife is an absolutely sweetheart, you’ll love her, and…”

“Yes.”

Philipp startled slightly at her interruption, before her simple answer registered, a wide smile spreading across his lips at Sera’s shy smile.

How could she not want to? The very fact that he wanted to bring her into such an important part of his life meant everything, she knew that. And he saw a future for them, just like she did? How could she want anything other than to meet his friends and colleagues?

Well, there was one thing she wanted too.

“You’ll come with me? You’ll meet them?” he asked hopefully, “I’m pretty sure they think I’m making you up at this point, with the amount that I talk about you but haven’t brought you to a game.”

At least he wasn’t keeping her a secret on purpose. That eased her nerves a little.

“I’d love to,” she said, laughing a little at his confession, “On one condition.”

“Of course, anything,” he nodded immediately.

A dangerous promise. But she needed to say something, just as her gut had been nagging her, or she really was going to explode.

“Kiss me?” she blurted, her heart racing.

Oh damn it.

That was not the way she wanted to say that.

What if he thought she was too forward? What if he thought she was being too much?

But Philipp didn’t even answer her with words. His hands reached out to cup her face gently, his eyes never leaving hers as he leaned in to kiss her as she asked. The moment that his lips touched hers, Sera let out a soft sigh, all but melting into his body, hands clutching at his biceps. His hands felt rough against her cheeks, hockey hands she knew, and the feeling of his beard brushing her skin only added to that. He smelled solely of a woodsy cologne, sharp in her nose and yet comforting all the same, suiting him perfectly. All she could taste was coffee and flaky pastry between their closed lips, her senses completely overwhelmed in the best way.

The moment lasted only seconds before he pulled away, cheeks as flushed as his mouth. She knew her own cheeks were flushed as well with the heat she felt, even more so as all she could think of was wanting more.

“I've been wanting to kiss you for weeks,” he said, voice uncharacteristically rough.

Sera made a noise she’d never heard before, a cross between a sigh and a moan, before she leaned in to kiss him again. How could she not?

#my writing #philipp grubauer fic #winter fic exchange 2k24 #philipp grubauer fanfic #philipp grubauer imagine #hockey fic #hockey fanfic #hockey imagine #nhl fic #nhl fanfic #nhl imagine

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