#i would be inclined to argue my writing's just worse/less interesting to readers than it was

[theliteraryluggage]

9.3%

Looking at my AO3 stats for this year, it's good to know it's not just me, I'm not just making this up.

Since I started posting fic, my comments to kudos ratio has solidly ranged from 15 to a whopping 25% (wow, 2021 was a good year huh?). A comment for every 4-7 kudos.

For this year, it's 9,3%.

Less than one comment per 10 kudos.

Listen, I know these are still excellent stats, much better than some others are getting, so I shouldn't complain. But it's good to know that the downwards trend isn't just in my head, I'm not just imagining things.

Comments are going down. People are interacting less.

[gossip-girl-of-middleearth]

Imagine the Fellowship comforting you, as you reveal your Aro/Ace identity to them

Requested by: @a-dragon-under-the-stars

I was wondering if you could write a gen or maybe qpp (x reader) oneshot where the reader is aroace and they're feeling unaccepted. The fellowship helps the reader then?

AN: I researched the topic, to ensure I got it right, and started relating a little too much, and now I’m questioning my identity. Alas! Enjoy the product of head scratching, and muttering ‘is it an emotional attachment thing, or is this me too??’

‘Either come back with a husband, or don’t come back at all’ – the last thing your mother had said to you, before you’d set out on the Fellowship’s journey.

Though you resented the idea greatly, you knew better than to argue with your mother. Of course, this left you at wrath with yourself. Here you were, travelling with those you’d rather call friends, but were instead sorting through them – as potential suitors, no less!

There were many feasible candidates, and at least two royals in your company. Your mother had placed great emphasis on that particular fact, but you knew she’d be happy either way, so long as you returned home with a lifelong partner.

However, as mentioned before, you found yourself rather at war, with no one but your own mind – and heart.

You see, that was just the thing – your heart cared not for what your mind thought. It had no attraction to any of the males in your presence, and for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out why!

They were all so handsome, and single! Even the ranger, Aragorn, no longer had ties to that Elven lady from Rivendell.

Legolas, the prince, was high on your radar. He had flowing blonde locks, a tall frame and a charming smile. Your mother would be very proud, if you returned home with him linked through your arm.

Of course, then there were the two human men. Boromir and Aragorn were both very similar in heart and spirit, and you knew for sure they’d make wonderful husbands.

Gimli the Dwarf made you chuckle, but you knew he had great social standing, within his own culture.

The Hobbits were last on your list, but they were most agreeable, nonetheless. Frodo, Merry and Pippin, the three cousins, allegedly stood very high in their society, back in the Shire.

Gandalf also travelled with you, but you halted your thoughts, before anything else could be birthed within your mind.

So many great males you travelled with, and yet, you had no hope of romancing them – it simply wasn’t in you to accomplish.

You felt at unease for days, and the Fellowship soon noticed. Your stomach churned and churned, as you wondered how your mother would react, to you returning home without one of them. The other half of you, was restless over the idea of actually returning home with one of them. You would be miserable, forcing both your heart and body to do things it had no interest in.

You felt incomplete, in a way, as if when your soul was crafted, such finite details were neglected. How would you ever honour your family tree, if you couldn’t carry on the ancestral legacy?

It was one big mess – one your newly found friends wished to help you with.

You sat around the campfire, with your head in your hands. The males all glanced between one another, as they revered you in concern.

You thought you had been discreet in your troubled antics, but apparently, at the gentle calling of Aragorn’s voice, you had not been.

“Y/n?” Aragorn called, stoking the fire, as he glanced at you sideways. “Are you okay? Is everything alright?”

Aware that tears were in your eyes, and had been running down your cheeks, you lifted your head. You sniffled loudly, shocking both yourself, and your friends.

“I’m fine,” you lied, wiping at your nose. “Thank you for asking.”

“Clearly not,” Legolas huffed, creasing his brows at you. “It doesn’t take Elven eyes to observe your saddened state.”

“Aye, we are your friends,” Gimli promised, slurping at his stew. “If you can’t tell us, then who can you tell?”

You lifted your head more, and knitted your own brows at the group. They gave you their undivided attention, and some even shuffled in their seats, as to better pay attention to you.

Their endearment warmed your heart, and you couldn’t help but feel it swell three times bigger in response. You even offered your own smile, as their sincerity was just too lovely.

Sighing, you averted your eyes to the ground, and replied. Your voice was small, and barely above a mumble. However, they had all heard you.

“I don’t want to marry any of you,” you said sheepishly.

Silence ensued around the camp, as the boys all looked between one another. Who among them had desired to court you, so much so that they had asked for your hand in marriage? Worse yet, why would you taunt them so cruelly, as to announce said rejection in everyone’s presence?

“Did…one of us…ask you, for your hand?” Boromir slowly said, glancing at the Hobbits and Legolas – whom he assumed were the most viable candidates.

You cringed deeply, for you quickly realized that you’d have to reveal your mother’s ulterior motives.

“Not exactly,” you winced. “I don’t know how to say this, without coming across as scheming, but…my mother…she told me to marry one of you.”

Silence ensued again, and you kept your eyes on the ground. That is, until Pippin chirped aloud.

“I’ll marry you!” he offered, grinning brightly. “Our children would be rather tall, that way!”

“That’s just the thing,” you huffed, rolling your eyes – amused nonetheless. “I don’t think I want any of that.”

“How so?” Aragorn gently asked, looking at you fully, as he continued meddling with the fire.

“Well,” you swallowed your nerves, “I know what tags along with marriage, and relationships, and I don’t know if there’s something wrong with me, but…I don’t feel inclined towards any of it? I don’t know, I’m just not interested? It’s hard to explain, but forcing those kind of things feels wrong somehow…am I just crazy?”

“Absolutely not,” Frodo promised – smiling, and nodding once in your direction. “I know so, because I’m the exact same.”

“What?” you incredulously asked, gaping across at the Hobbit.

“I feel the same as you,” he repeated. “I too do not have any interest in romance, or the things that ensue afterwards…nor did my uncle, for that matter.”

The Hobbit blushed at his own innuendo, regarding what ensures after marriage. He looked away, with a clearing of his throat.

Legolas’ brows were raised, and he pursed his lips to the side. ‘Can’t relate’, the young Elf thought. Boromir and Aragorn merely only nodded in understanding, as they mulled over both yours and the Hobbit’s admittance.

“I too, will jump on this bandwagon,” Gandalf piped up, having been sat and smoking against a tree the whole time. “It might be because I am a Maia, but even in my Middle-earth form, I do not crave such relations. If you’re crazy, or incomplete, then so am I – and I was made in Eru’s image.”

You suddenly perked up at the wizard’s words, and offered him an eye-squinting smile.

“Doesn’t seem that weird to me,” Gimli mused, shrugging his shoulders. “I know a few Dwarves who felt the same – Thorin, for one. At least, that’s what my father says.”

“It seems the rest of us are in the minority,” Aragorn smiled, glancing between the other Hobbits, Legolas and Boromir. “I wouldn’t fret at all, Y/n. It all seems perfectly natural to me. And regarding your mother, well…if her words ever cause doubt in your heart, remember ours instead; you are valid – just as valid as both Gandalf, and Frodo.”

You steadily beamed brightly, and found tears warming your eyes again. However, this time, they were out of the joy lighting up in your heart.

“Thank you, guys,” you said, nodding around at all of them. “I’m glad I have you all.”

[snowdice]

Folds in Paper (Chapter 2: Green Light)[Folds in Time Universe]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Janus/Patton, Remus & Roman, eventual Logan/Virgil (maybe more)

Characters:

Main: Janus, Patton, Remus

Appear: Remy, Emile, Virgil, Logan, Roman

Summary: Janus, a disillusioned senior agent working for the Time Preservation Initiative, struggles to find meaning in a world where time travel could change everything about your life’s history in less than a moment. When time distortions start popping up, threatening the timeline and the fabric of reality as he knows it, it becomes a race against the clock to fix the damage before everything unravels. And the problem with time travel… you never how long you have before the clock strikes 12 and your time is up.

With a partner who has more mysteries in his past than Janus had anticipated and an enigmatic free agent time traveler mucking about time always with a clever pun or a time appropriate pet name on his lips, Janus will need to figure out what went wrong with time, and more importantly, how to fix it.

Notes: Time travel AU, mystery, enemies to lovers, alcohol

“Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter – to-morrow we will run farther, stretch out our arms farther…” (F. Scott Fitzgerald in The Great Gastby)

This is a fic I’ve been writing on study breaks that you have probably all already seen at this point. I’ve slightly edited it for wording and grammar, but not for content from my previous posts. Feel free to send in asks to direct it because I’m not 100% sure where this is going and you can help decide if you feel so inclined! You can see the process I went through to build this at this link.

Part 1

The morning was just as torturous as Janus had expected it would be. He chewed through another pop-tart, this time bothering to actually check and see that it was a cinnamon-sugar one and drank three cups of caffeinated orange juice. Then, he waved his hand through the air and selected the first saved location on his device. He popped up directly behind his desk where he’d been standing the night morning before.

Someone, probably Remus, had shut his integrator down. He swiped a finger across the power button, and it flickered back on, scrolling through its morning start up routine.

The machine scanned through all of the data in the three main system it was connected to and sorted all information into things that concerned him, could concern him, and did not before then sorting the first two categories into order of importance. As it did, he set up his screen reader so he would hopefully not start the day with more of a migraine than he already had. It took about 3 seconds for everything to turn on and settle.

Sitting down in his desk, he dismissed the notification that Remus had finished and submitted the report from their mission the day before, before looking through the next things on his list. A mission had been scheduled for him today, and the details were in his inbox. A piece of time travel technology had been accidently dropped by an archology student in the 1890s during a trip. It was an earlier model of emergency time travel given to time travelers that would dump them back into the Registration Office in the year they originated. It wasn’t extremely dangerous, but could pose some problems, especially if someone who didn’t know what it was activated it.

Surveillance agents had tracked it down and found that it had been picked up by a local and sold. Though no one from that time had known what it was, they had identified that it was made out of a precious metal and it had been crafted into an expensive necklace. Janus and Remus were supposed to retrieve it today. It had been pinpointed that the most opportune time for the extraction was 1923 during a masquerade ball held by those who had bought the necklace. It was a fairly low stakes mission.

He wasn’t set to leave for another couple of hours, so he clicked through the rest of the important notifications and then set off to meet his missions coordinator, Rhi, in her office.

Rhi and Janus got along fairly well. She was a well put together woman who took her job incredibly seriously. It was fair as her job was to organize all information and materials from every other department and make sure the agents she was assigned to got and understood all of it. A mistake from her could lead to an agent’s death or something far worse.

This, of course, made her relationship with Remus… interesting to say the least. Janus could never place whether they were nemesis, frenemies, or mortal enemies, and he doubted he would ever know.

“Okay, but it’s the 1920s America,” Remus was already in her office arguing when Janus arrived. “There were so many gangsters! I could be a gangster. I would make a fantastic gangster! Just give me a gun, a snazzy suit with a white hat, and a buttload of alcohol. I will be running Chicago with Al Capone in five minutes.”

“Al Capone didn’t become a crime boss until 1925 and you are going to 1923,” Rhi said, sounding bored, “you aren’t going to Chicago, and as I have already stated, your cover is already decided.”

“But-”

“It is nonnegotiable, Agent Clockson,” she said firmly. Remus pouted, but seemingly accepted his fate.

“May I come in?” Janus asked.

“Please do,” Rhi said. “You have been to the 1920s before, correct?” she asked Janus.

“Yes ma’am.”

She tapped the screen on her desk in response. “In the last two years?”

“About two months ago,” he responded. She tapped something else.

“Any blacks, reds, or yellows?” she asked.

“All green.”

“Great. Do you need a refresher course on basic cultural or linguistic procedures?”

“No.”

She pushed one more thing and then swiped the check-in document over to him. He glanced at the report stating he’d had no incidents of any level the last time he visited the 1920s and had opted out of the optional refresher course, and then pressed his finger against the screen to sign it with his fingerprint.

The document returned to her side of the desk automatically. “Okay,” she said swiping another document from her left over to be in front of her. She twisted her wrist to copy it and slid copies to Janus and Remus. “Here are exact details on the time, place, and event you are going to, as well as details about your cover.” Janus scrolled through his quickly. It wasn’t as detailed as some he’d had considering this was a brief in-and-out mission, but he still took care to memorize everything on the page.

As he and Remus read through their things, Rhi got to her feet and turned to the storage compartments behind her desk.

She grabbed out two packages and when they’d both signed that they’d read and understood the paperwork, she slid them across the desk to them. “These have everything you need,” she said. “Clothes, money, and an invitation to the party you’re off to attend. You are to get changed now, have a last check in with costuming to make sure everything is in order, and then report to decontamination in 23 minutes. You’re set to leave in 38 minutes. Any questions?”

“How much-?” Remus started.

“None, agent,” Rhi said.

“But-”

“No alcohol,” Rhi said. “It is the prohibition era in the United States anyway.”

“Like there’s not going to be alcohol at the rich people party,” Remus said sullenly.

She pressed her lips together. “It is an in-and-out mission,” she said to both of them, and then turned to glare at Remus. “Do not get arrested.”

“I don’t know,” Remus said joyfully. “I think I still have room for a 1920s mug shot on my wall.”

“Behave,” she said, “or I’ll report you for the cat you smuggled in from the 1800s.”

“You’d never,” Remus said. “You enjoy the cute pictures of Diesel Fuel I send you every day too much, and you know it!”

“Just… don’t get arrested.” She turned to Janus. “Don’t let him get arrested.”

“I’ll do my best,” Janus promised, standing. “Now come on, Remus, we need to get changed.”

“You just want to see me naked,” Remus replied with a wink, but he did stand.

“If I see you naked one more time in my life Remus, my eyeballs will fall out of their sockets,” Janus said, waving to Rhi as he pulled Remus out of the door.

“Kinky.”

Janus’s eyeballs almost did fall out right then and there with how hard he rolled them.

They got changed quickly, Remus complaining and saying if he couldn’t dress like a gangster, he should at least be allowed to wear a flapper dress. Janus had long ago learned to ignore his ramblings. He did seem enthused about the included mask for the masquerade. It was a silver fox shaped mask with green accents that reminded Janus of the Egyptian God Anubis.

Janus’s own mask, on the other hand, was only designed to take up the left half of his face. It was mostly golden with a black swirled design. Attached to the side, there was a plume of golden tipped white feathers. He had to give it to the costuming department, they did have good taste.

Once they were both dressed, they were poked and prodded by one of the costumers to make sure everything was accurate, fit right, and had been put on correctly.

After that, they went to the decontamination area to have themselves and everything they were taking with them sterilized so they didn’t accidently take any pathogens to the 1920s. They also received an oral vaccination to be sure they didn’t pick up anything from the 1920s and bring it back.

Then they were ready to go. The correct time-space coordinates had already been sent to their timepieces. With a push of a button, they were off.

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

[myghostmonument]

13xReader: Pyrite

Notes: What do you mean it’s January and I’m just now posting requests from the festive prompt list? SJSKJSKS yeah sorry guys December was a bad month for me but I’m getting them out now because it’s always Christmas in my heart and that’s how it is. This prompt was: “Oh hey, mistletoe!” It was supposed to be short n quick and here we are! All the clown schools are actively recruiting me, thanks for asking. I hope you all enjoy anyways! I’ve more writing on the way. This is of course gender-neutral for the reader!

Summary: The Doctor takes you and the fam to what should be a fun and carefree winter festival, except that from the moment you step foot out of the TARDIS, security droids open fire. Festive! Taking refuge in an abandoned shop, you discover an interesting rock, debate the authenticity of mistletoe, and almost experience death via shelf. All in a day’s work right?

Warnings: None unless heavy and repeated eye-contact is an issue. There may also be a rugby tackle.

WC: 3800 gdi 

“I told you! Christmas - never good with me!” The Doctor’s words were shouted as she ducked a flying chunk of debris.

“What?” Yaz hollered back, crouched behind a much larger and presently stationary chunk of debris. “I said, Christmas and me - every time - “ the Doctor broke off with a yell, ducking another narrow miss. “What?” Ryan and Yaz both yelled. “Maybe we could save this conversation for another time,” Graham shouted. “When we’re not under attack, for example!” “What?” the Doctor yelled back. You couldn’t help it. Hunched up against a chunk of smoking rubble, covered in dirt, and most certainly in mortal peril (and hardly thirty minutes into what the Doctor had promised to be a ‘fun and cheerful’ shopping excursion, no less), the sight of your friends yelling back and forth was too much to take. You started to laugh. The Doctor glanced over her shoulder at you, and an explosion briefly backlit her. Limned in gold, with wild hair and a smudged face, the Doctor looked slightly wild as her eyes flicked over you rapidly, perhaps assessing you for damage. She then grinned back. It did nothing to lessen the wildness. “Now that’s the spirit!” she called approvingly. “You lot, take notes! Better team morale, we can’t carry it all.” It was unlikely that anyone other than you heard her, but her general meaning seemed to carry over well enough. “We can’t stay here much longer,” you said, ducking another blast. This was definitely not Christmas, wherever (whatever, whenever) it was. Not the Christmas the Doctor had begrudgingly agreed to after you and the others had pestered her. You sometimes suspected that she initially refused requests for the sole purpose of being convinced; she certainly seemed to thrive on the banter and, when she inevitably agreed, was all enthusiasm. “Right, okay,” the Doctor said, pushing hair out of her eyes and peering over the top of her debris shield. “There’s a little shop just over there, I think we can make it!” “And then what?” you started to ask, before glancing up. A flash of light was all the warning you had. Lunging forward, you grabbed a fist-full of the Doctor’s coat and yanked her back down just as another blast demolished a chunk of the shield, precisely in the space her head had previously occupied. “I have a plan,” the Doctor said cheerfully, taking out her sonic and acting as if she hadn’t just narrowly avoided decapitation. She caught your expression and scrunched her face. “It’s a work in progress!” she chided, chancing another look over the still-smoking debris. Yaz darted over to join you, followed by Ryan and Graham. “What’s she doing then?” Graham asked, eyeing the Doctor as she scanned the air with her sonic. “She says she has a plan,” you informed them. The four of you then shared a look. “I heard that,” the Doctor said without turning around, still fiddling with her sonic. “But we didn’t say anything - “ Yaz began. “Your silence was very loud,” the Doctor replied, and you supposed that you couldn’t really argue with that. She clicked something together on her sonic and made a triumphant sound. “Right! Got it! Stage one of my plan: I’m going to overload the sensors and we’re going to head for that shop right around the corner, sharpish.” She surveyed you all expectantly, looking pleased. “What’s stage two of the plan?” “How long will the sensors be overloaded?” “How sure are you it’s gonna actually work? “And you reckon this shop’ll be safer?” “Enough with the questions!” the Doctor exploded, her indignant gaze moving between the four of you. “I told you it’s a plan in progress! Unless any of you lot have something to offer up, then I suggest you pipe down!” She waited a beat, then nodded. “Good. So, my plan - when I say go, you run like mad to that shop and get cover.” “What about you, Doc?” Graham asked. The Doctor pushed hair out of her eyes and waved a hand vaguely. “I’ll be right behind you. Should be fine.” The four of you exchanged another very loud look. But it was as she said: you really didn’t have a better plan. And the shop couldn’t be much worse than your current position, smack dab as it was in the middle of the cross-fire. So when the Doctor nodded at all of you with a (slightly wild) smile, leapt up with her sonic buzzing, and hollered ‘go’, you went.  “Well this is cheery,” Graham observed a few breathless moments later, looking around the dim shop you had all piled in. You were all crouched low, instinctively avoiding the windows. “Creepy, more like,” Yaz muttered, her own gaze lingering on the shadows. You were inclined to agree with her. The cramped and shadowed room was clearly some sort of flower shop, one which no doubt would have been bright and serene with the lights on and under less lethal circumstances. As it was, the uncertain gloom of the room lent it vaguely sinister, as if the silent plants were watching you. Waiting. Judging. Moving, ever so slightly? You swallowed, looking away from the shadows and meeting Ryan’s gaze. He didn’t look entirely at ease either. It wasn’t much comfort. A breath of air, a brush of sensation, fingers running across your neck and plucking at your collar. It turned out to be just the trailing vines of what looked like potted ivy, but you only realized that after you’d yelped and scrambled backwards, slamming your back painfully against the shop’s counter. Ryan and Yaz didn’t do a very good job of hiding their sniggering. You glowered at them, rubbing your back. “Keep it down,” Graham hissed, craning his neck to peer out a misty and smudged window. “I think the Doc’s coming!” Sure enough, there was a sudden upsurge in noise outside, and threading through the weapon blasts was a voice you knew very well. Graham chanced another look, then leapt to his feet and opened the shop door just in time for the Doctor to dive through the threshold. He slammed it and crouched again as she tucked and rolled. It was an impressive display of timing from the two of them. Ryan even gave a low whistle. “Did you lose them?” Yaz asked. The windows rattled as another blast rang out, and she winced. “Ah, maybe,” the Doctor panted, sitting up and pushing hair from her eyes. The window rattled in its frame again. “Possibly. Doubt it, to be honest.” She pushed herself against the counter with you, peeking over it before ducking back down and looking at you all, then the shop. She was, you were exasperated to see, looking quite cheerful. “This is cozy! How are we doing?” “Seriously?” Yaz asked, sounding as exasperated as you felt. You couldn’t help but be amused, and the Doctor caught your grin. “Now that’s more like it,” she said. “We’re together, we’re safe-ish, and we’re in a little shop. A flower shop! I love shops.” 

“Doc,” Graham said, and you could see how much the effort of maintaining his patience was costing him. Traveling with the Doctor was a crash-course in many important life skills, emotional management included. “What are those things, and why are they shooting at us?”

“Security droids,” the Doctor said, frowning. “Sophisticated models, too. They shouldn’t be attacking us like this.” She peeked around the counter, tongue poking between her lips. “Seems to have quieted down a bit, at least.”

Yaz was frowning too. “If they’re so sophisticated, why haven’t they tracked us in here?” 

“And why are they shooting at us, if we haven’t done anything?” Ryan added, sounding a touch offended. 

“Good questions,” the Doctor said. She stood up cautiously and skulked over to a window.  “This should be a peaceful era, I don’t know why they have these droids at all. Unless I got my eras messed up.”

“I wonder what that’d be like,” Graham said dryly.

Yaz snorted. “What, the Doctor mixing up her eras, or her landing somewhere peaceful?” 

“Oi, that’s enough of that,” the Doctor said indignantly while you, Ryan and Yaz laughed. “We’ve been to loads of peaceful places.”

“Yeah but generally speaking, if it’s peaceful when we land, you do your best to find out why and then upend everything,” Graham said, pushing himself to his feet with a groan. The Doctor looked as if she wished to argue the point, but settled for peeking out the window again in what she evidently considered to be a dignified silence. 

Taking your cue from them, you, Yaz and Ryan cautiously stood up too and, when the Doctor didn’t say anything, began to poke around the dim shop. It seemed to be decorated for a winter holiday, with tinsel and lights and bows.

“Weird, that this place has a Christmas too,” Ryan said, poking at a decorative, softly lit tree.

“Most civilizations have a Christmas,” the Doctor said absently. “Not Christmas, Christmas, of course. But most people have a holiday in the winter, when the harvests are done and the cold sets in.” She touched a bell, her nose wrinkling into a delighted smile as it chimed softly. “They’re almost always like this, with bright lights and gaudy decorations, all centering on hearth and home and coming out of the long, dark nights with hope and joy.” 

You watched her as she spoke. You loved this, loved watching her wax eloquent on the quirks and details of a new people or planet. There was a certain light and energy that seemed to suffuse the Doctor, when she found something new and unique and hopeful; her joy in the quirks of the universe all but radiated from her. It was a tangible thing, almost visible in her wake as she talked and moved around. It was so quintessentially, authentically her. 

You couldn’t help but smile, watching her. When she glanced over her shoulder, your eyes briefly met. Before you could feel much more than the first stirrings of self-consciousness that she’d caught you staring at her, smiling at her… she smiled back, and the shop felt brighter.

“Is this mistletoe?” 

Ryan’s question wasn’t loud or sudden, but you still jumped, startled. You caught Yaz’s eye as you turned around. She gave you a cheeky look, her eyebrows raised. Mature and unruffled person that you were, you scrunched your nose in response. It was an imitation of the Doctor you’d all picked up, and utilized with decreasing irony. She didn’t seem to have noticed it yet. One of these times, though, she was going to catch you all as you pulled increasingly dramatic scrunches behind her back. You personally hoped that she would catch Ryan (his were the best and most ridiculous). 

Graham walked over to Ryan, examining the draping plant in question. “Couldn’t be,” he said, though without much conviction. Traveling with the Doctor had done a lot to blur the lines between impossible, improbable, and just another Tuesday. 

“Unlikely,” the Doctor said as she moved over, pulling out her sonic. She ran it across the leaves of the plant, the muted glow and soft whirr making an island of light and colour in the shop. 

“Anyways how do you know what mistletoe looks like, Ryan?” Yaz asked interestedly. 

“I’d like to know that as well,” Graham said, never one to pass on an opportunity.

“Ha, ha,” Ryan said groused. “Obviously I don’t know, since I was wrong.”

“That’s not really better though, is it?” Yaz observed, and she and you both dissolved into giggles as Ryan’s face underwent a series of complicated and interesting emotions. When he settled on his signature Doctor-scrunch, you only laughed harder.

“Shh,” Graham said, perhaps taking pity on his grandson, though he seemed to be fighting a smile. “We don’t want to attract those things’ attention. I’m not built for all this running.” 

“They should be down for a bit longer,” the Doctor said. “Long enough to figure out what the next part of the plan is.” She looked away from her sonic, towards a window. “Can’t stay here forever; the security droids are bound to figure it out sooner or later and we need to find the locals, find out why they’re so afraid of newcomers.”

She moved restlessly around the shop. Graham and Yaz asked her some more questions, but you drifted away, examining the back shelves. While some of the items were readily identifiable as plants and flowers, others were much more ambiguous and even downright strange. You stooped to look at what seemed to be a potted rock. Why would anyone put a rock in soil like that? It wasn’t a remarkable rock, just striated grey, dull and lumpy. Except - was that a slight glimmer, that caught your eye? Curious (and lacking the appropriate degree of caution that traveling with the Doctor had instilled in you) you reached out your hand. Your fingertip had just brushed the rock - warmer than you thought it would be, and smooth - when an arm appeared from over your shoulder, a hand wrapping around your wrist. You jumped, startled, and felt your back press up against someone. 

“No touching things, what have I said?” The Doctor’s voice was laced with exasperation, but you were more distracted by the way it came from so very close to your ear. “I thought it was just Ryan I had to watch - oh, what’s this?” The Doctor’s hand was still wrapped around your wrist. Combined with her body so close to yours that you could feel the heat and energy emanating off of her, you were extraordinarily distracted. So much so that you almost missed it, at first. The Doctor’s sharpening attention was palpable, and you blinked as you watched the rock shudder, fine cracks radiating across its surface. Before you could even make sense of that, the cracks unfurled into tendrils, the rock transforming before your eyes into an impossibly delicate plant. It swayed gently.

“How did it do that?” you asked, your eyes tracking the sinuous, gentle movement of the rock-plant. It wasn’t the strangest thing you’d seen on your travels, but for some reason you were having trouble wrapping your mind around the fact that the bland, unassuming, solid little rock had transformed into this wispy plant.

“Touch responsive,” the Doctor said musingly as she leaned past you and peered at it. “An interesting adaptation. Probably to lure in the unwary,” she added severely, glancing back at you. 

You wrinkled your nose at her. “That’s not what I meant, I meant how does it go from a rock to -” but you broke off. Something had flashed out of the corner of your eye, and you turned, frowning. Just a glimmer of light bouncing off something in the shop, surely? But even as you thought that, another flash of light drew you attention - from outside the window. Uh oh. 

“Doctor,” you said, tugging at one of her sleeves. She was still in the middle of expounding upon both the plant’s alleged properties as well as your foolishness, but she glanced back at you, her hair falling over her face. She followed your gaze to the window.

“Hey Doc, there’s something moving out there,” Graham said from the other side of the shop. The Doctor’s face underwent a series of rapid changes as she stood up straight. She looked from Ryan, Graham and Yaz to you, and then the window again. “Everyone away from the windows,” she said, while promptly doing exactly the opposite of that. She only made it a step before she froze, then whirled back around. “Down!” she shouted, lunging forward and half-tackling you. She pulled you closer as you fell, so that her body was shielding yours. You thought maybe you’d shouted in surprise as you were forcibly tackled. It was hard to tell though, because even as you hit the ground (ow,) the wall across from you exploded as something tore through it. Several more shots ricocheted through the room, and bits of wood, ceramic and other debris crashed to the floor all around your head. You weren’t thinking about that much, though. Partially because you were still winded from the takedown, but mostly because the Doctor was still crouched over you, her head ducked against your shoulder and her arms on either side of your head as she shielded you. It was extraordinarily distracting. A booming crash rattled the floorboards as one of the shelves tipped over, and the Doctor yelped as she was showered with yet more debris.

Silence slowly reasserted itself in the shop. The Doctor cautiously lifted her head from your shoulder, turning so that her hair brushed your face. “Yaz?” she called, coughing. Smoke hung thick in the air, sullen and acrid. “Graham? Ryan?” “We’re fine,” Yaz called back. “Uh - Doctor, where are you guys?” You thought that a rather odd question to ask; if anything it was only you Yaz ought to have wondered the whereabouts of, given that the Doctor was still draped on top of you. You heard scuffling from the other side of the shop. “Stay down,” the Doctor said sharply. “They’re motion activated. We’re fine, just a bit cramped.” She shifted gingerly as she said this, and as her head moved you got a good look above you for the first time. It seemed the crashing shelf you’d heard had fallen directly over the Doctor, and presently lay propped up against the counter. It had probably protected you both from the worst of the debris, but it was now also effectively pinning you down. Ah. 

The Doctor turned her head again so that she was looking at you. Your noses were all but touching, her hair still brushing against your cheek. You wondered distantly if this was what a heart attack felt like, as you counted the freckles dotting the Doctor’s cheek like so many stars. “I’m just going to ease out, slowly,” she said, her tongue poking out between her lips as she concentrated and, in the process, almost murdered you. Perhaps this was what a heart attack felt like, actually. “Stay very, very still.” You swallowed and nodded minutely, not trusting yourself to speak. The Doctor pushed herself slightly off of you, one hand twisting as she tried to ease to the side. She froze as the shelf groaned and slid down further. Her eyes met yours again, wide and gleaming.

“Right,” the Doctor breathed. “Maybe we ah. Wait for help then.” She scrunched her nose as she spoke, obviously disliking the sentiment. You weren’t really surprised when she followed the statement with another attempt at shimmying out from under the shelf. It slid down another solid inch, hitting the Doctor and pressing her against you. “Ah,” she said, glancing at you guiltily. She looked so absurd that you couldn’t help but smile. Her guilty look melted away into a smile of her own. “Don’t you dare laugh,” she muttered. “I may have made a tactical error. It does happen.”

Something fell off the shelf, shattering very close to your face. You could hear something else slide to what must be the very edge of the shelf; you could just see the draping green tendrils of a potted plant, teetering on the edge. The Doctor’s eyes were very wide as she looked at you. ‘Don’t move,’ she mouthed, as if you were the one inching the shelf lower and lower. “I think we’ve got company,” Ryan’s voice called. You realized that you could hear voices, growing louder as they approached. “Must be the locals,” the Doctor said. She looked frustrated; you imagined that being rescued from the shop she had broken into and helped destroy might slightly undercut her position.. She shifted just slightly, and the potted plant rattled above you. She looked up, carefully moving only her eyes. 

“Huh,” she said after a beat. “I think it is mistletoe.” Her eyes moved back to yours, and your gazes locked. The Doctor had propped herself up with her arms so that she didn’t crush you, but in that moment you still felt the air leave your lungs. The moment stretched, the two of you staring at each other, noses just touching, eyes reflecting each other.  You were suddenly, horribly aware of your lips, and the bare sliver of space between them and the Doctor’s.. You thought you could almost feel the heat coming from them. From her. You could certainly feel her hearts beating against your chest. The door to the shop banged open, and you both jerked. “Doctor!” Yaz cried, over the sound of more voices. “It’s okay,” the Doctor called, turning her head and filling your face with her hair. “Just a bit of a misunderstanding!” She tried to move again as Yaz began arguing with someone, and the bookcase creaked ominously. You could hear rapidly approaching steps, and Graham’s shoes appeared in your line of vision, followed by the rest of him as he crouched down. He cast an appraising eye over you, the Doctor, and the shelf, and then lifted his brows. More footsteps, and then he was joined by Yaz and Ryan, and several other sets of shoes you didn’t recognize. The angry locals, presumably. “Doctor, they seem to think we’re here as part of an - army, or something,” Yaz said, also crouching down. She blinked. “Are you okay?” “You are under arrest,” a voice snapped out. “You are surrounded and will surrender your weapons and the whereabouts of your reinforcements.” You saw Yaz’s fist clench on the floor in silent anxiety, though she said nothing. “Hello! No weapons,” the Doctor said brightly. You could feel her words resonating through her chest to yours. “No reinforcements, either. Just travelers who happened to end up on the wrong side of those security droids of yours. I’m the Doctor, by the way, and these are my friends, and we’re here to help.” 

Somewhere in the depths of the shop, another pot crashed to the ground and perhaps managed to undercut the Doctor’s words, slightly. You could see her face scrunch. Then she abruptly flattened against you as the shelf slid another inch or two down, and you both grunted. You could feel her nose against your neck and shoulder, and for a moment your whole brain flashed blank. She smelled like tea, and vanilla. 

This was definitely what a heart attack felt like. For sure. “But maybe a little help for us, first?” the Doctor managed, her words brushing across your skin, thrumming through your chest. She was still trying to wiggle about as she listened and watched as the others set to trying to lift the shelf off of you, presumably so that you could all then be put under arrest. 

It was going to be a long day.