#this was a trip down fic memory lane for me and it was so self-indulgent but it was really nice! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

winchesterandpie · 2 years ago

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Sleigh Ride

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x reader

Word Count: 1035

Warnings: sooo self indulgent, soft Bradley, reader plays piano

A/N: Welcome to Top Gun Christmas! I have a few winter-themed fics (some specifically Christmas, others generic winter) that I have written/planned that I'm going to put out over the next few weeks and I'm hoping to write some more! If you have ideas/prompts, please send them in! I'd love to have some fun little things to write! For now, enjoy this one!

Also, for reference, here's the duet mentioned (no, these aren't my family friends who play it, but it is the right arrangement)

You were sitting at the piano, trying to remember the right notes when Bradley got back from the store. He set the bags down in the kitchen, just in time to catch you in his arms as you bounced in to greet him. You were lifted easily into a quick spin that made you laugh.

“Hey, you’re home!”

“You know I can’t stay away from you for long, baby.” He grinned at you as he set you on the counter with a chaste kiss.

“I can help put the groceries away, Roo,” you said when he started to move away. Rooster leaned back in to give you another kiss, longer this time. You wound your fingers into his hair, pulling a hum from his lips. When he pulled away again, he tapped your nose lightly.

“You help me plenty, let me do this. Please?”

“You are too good to me.”

“Mmm, I disagree. I’m just the right amount of good.” With a last kiss to your forehead, he moved back to the groceries. “What were you playing?”

“Oh, I was just trying to remember a piece. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard it, but I can’t find the right sheet music online either.”

“What piece?”

“Sleigh Ride. This couple--family friends--played it at the Christmas party we went to every year when I was a kid.” You smiled softly, leaning your head back against the cabinet as you remembered those days. “It was my favorite part. They played a bunch of duets, but Sleigh Ride was the one they played every year. We would all clap for the whip sounds--we got pretty good at the timing too!”

“That sounds like a really great time,” he said, tapping your knee so you would shift so he could put snacks in the cupboard behind your leg.

“Yeah, it was. They were the sweetest people too…” You trailed off, your brow furrowing as you tried to find whatever was tugging at the corners of your memory. When you found it, you brightened immediately, pulling out your phone. “I might actually have a video of it, let me check.”

You scrolled through the older photos and videos you had saved, looking for what you thought you remembered. Bradley finished putting the groceries away while you searched, coming to lean against the counter next to you.

“Aha!” you crowed triumphantly. “I found it! Do you want to see?”

In response, he shifted to stand between your legs, leaning back against your chest. You slung your arms over his shoulders so you could hold the phone for you both to see. You both tilted your heads together for the trip down memory lane.

Two weeks later, you and Rooster pulled up to your house after a long, fun day on base testing a new piece of equipment in your jets. He grabbed the mail, including a larger envelope, but tucked it into his bag with a sly grin. You pretended you didn’t notice, letting him sling an arm across your shoulders as you made your way into the house.

You left it alone until after dinner when you both dropped onto the couch. He had been glancing furtively at his bag all evening, but he maintained his silence.

“Anything interesting in the mail?” You tried to sound nonchalant--like you hadn’t spent all evening dying of curiosity.

“Actually, yeah.” Bradley hopped up and retrieved the bag, unzipping it to pull the mysterious envelope out. “I, uh, I talked to those family friends of yours.”

“Family friends?”

“The ones that played Sleigh Ride.” He handed the envelope to you to open. “I asked if they could point me in the direction of the duet and they offered to send a copy.”

“You went looking for it?” You unsealed the flap so you could pull out the score. Astonished, you turned through the pages, skimming your fingers across the printed notes.

“Yeah. I thought maybe we could learn it together. If you wanted to, of course.” There was the slightest tremor of nerves in his voice.

“You did this all for me?” You looked from the music to him, overwhelmed by how much Bradley loved you. He saw the extra shininess in your eyes, but in his nervousness, he misinterpreted the cause.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to, that’s totally okay,” he backtracked quickly.

“No, no, I would love to.” Setting the music aside, you took his face in your hands. “You sweet, sweet man. What could I possibly have done to deserve you?”

Bradley relaxed at the contact and your reassurance, his hazel eyes soft. His eyes said everything you could never find the words to say, but at last, he replied simply, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You weren’t sure who moved first, nor did you care, as you soon found yourself in a gentle kiss. His hand skimmed up and down your back, making you warm and pliant against him. Your fingers returned the favor, delicately mapping out the planes of his face that you adored so much.

It didn’t last terribly long, as you were too excited about the idea of learning a piece together. Once you pulled apart, you were bouncing up from the couch, music in hand as you tugged him toward the piano. He laughed, sweeping you up in his arms to attack your neck with kisses that made you giggle.

Bradley let you go at last, watching you fondly as you set the music on the piano. He loved your smile, your laugh, your happiness. You were it for him, and he vowed to himself that he would bring a smile to your face every day of the rest of his life. You didn’t know he’d bought it yet, but there was a little velvet box burning a hole in one of his dresser drawers, waiting for the right moment.

He couldn’t wait for all the precious little moments like this one that you would surely accumulate together. Until then, he joined you on the piano bench, pressed a kiss to the side of your head, and fumbled with you through the first of many practice runs of the duet.

Top Gun Taglist:

@malindacath @army24--7 @mads-weasley

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #top gun christmas #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster bradshaw #top gun #top gun maverick

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rose-de-noire · 2 years ago

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I posted 3,706 times in 2022

28 posts created (1%)

3,678 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@writerman

@mxaether

@chartreuseabstruseness

@holycatsandrabbits

@waldosakimbo

I tagged 685 of my posts in 2022

#amphibian - 130 posts

#frog - 109 posts

#handsome jack - 82 posts

#rhack - 81 posts

#borderlands - 71 posts

#good omens - 62 posts

#rhys - 48 posts

#described in alt text - 35 posts

#bravestarr - 32 posts

#ineffable husbands - 30 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#n not that tex's human... i mean he's lavender colored which also used to be slang for gay... yeah yeah... i know i'm rambling in the tags b

I sent 1 gift in 2022

My Top Posts in 2022:

I'm on a trip down memory lane. So I offer up some Captain Future fics! Do I even need to put a slash-warning? ;)

1 note - Posted November 2, 2022

unpopular opinion

"Have you seen Goncharov?" is the new "I like your shoelaces."

5 notes - Posted November 23, 2022

ramblings of a FF writer

Too many open wips, no energy and it doesn’t help that two of these are in German. The following stories are currently worked on:

Sparrington (well in the works since over a year, we’re going there, I promise!)

Tex Hex/BraveStarr (with a twist, it’s MtF and it’s German. The next Chapter’s almost done.)

Hansoff (which there are two, both in the same universe and both are a little stuck.)

some undisclosed plotbunnies bothering me and a absolutely self indulgent Sing 2 one

5 notes - Posted June 13, 2022

Greenhorns... all of ‘em... Tex Hex from BraveStarr Cosplayer is yours truly. Hex Maker was made by me, so are the chaps. The rest’s basically a closet cosplay. Pic’s by @/margeretegiry

7 notes - Posted June 13, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

press all the right buttons

(AU, Rhys is Jack’s PA) Jack saw them in a pet vid and promptly installed these talk-buttons for Butt Stallion to press. The diamond pony now basically lives on the buttons “Daddy” and “Petpets”. Jack, being a surprisingly good pet owner, does as she asks whenever the buttons are pressed. Then he and Rhys start dating for good. Doesn’t change the fact that Handsome Jack’s still a workaholic. He sometimes just blatantly gets lost in his work, even forgetting his very pretty lover. And then Rhys starts aggressively pressing buttons: “Daddy” and “Petpets” Jack puts his work down and grins.

19 notes - Posted July 27, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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qwertyfingers · 4 years ago

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faith healer, come lay your hands on me

here’s a snippet from the self indulgent traumatism (trauma and autism) fic if anyone wants to read it lol. Sam and Cas love to have have problems in the middle of the night. Gen, 2k words, warning for discussions of food scarcity and calming someone down from a panic attack, nothing graphic though. Set in a nebulous late-seasons time period because I respect canon literally not at all.

It’s the middle of the night, sometime between Dean’s custom of falling asleep on his keyboard and Sam shepherding them both to bed, but before his nightly waking up from a nightmare to wander around the bunker checking the wards. Cas is in the kitchen wiping away mostly-imaginary detritus from the counters when Sam finds him; wild-eyed and looking frayed at the seams. He nods at Cas, but nothing follows it. He just stands there in the centre of the room shaking slightly. His eye sockets look like bruises.

Cas tilts his head and squints, considering, “Are you alright, Sam?”

Sam startles in a big way. Huffs breaths in and out of his nose, forehead crinkling with the effort. “What? I. yeah I’m- I’m fine.” He pauses for a few seconds though, hands twisting at the edges of his shirt like they do when he’s worrying. He makes several aborted attempts to keep talking, each less successful than the last. Kicks gently at a table leg and scowls to himself. “It is fine it’s just...” but he doesn’t continue, just starts gesturing with his hands, like he’s run out of words.

Cas turns back to his cleaning, watches Sam filter through all of his most common nervous gestures in the edges of his vision, seemingly not comforted by any of them. He clenches his hands, drags them over his jaw and face, tugs his hair through his fingers roughly. He bounces, frenetic, from foot to foot, socked feet making muffled tapping noises on the hard floor. Says nothing for a long time.

Cas doesn’t sleep much, so he measures his nighttimes in completed tasks rather than minutes and hours. He gets through wiping the surfaces, cleaning out the sink, and setting the dishwasher to its self-clean cycle, before he hears anything from Sam.

When he does finally speak, the words seem to burst out of him all at once, quiet but tense and all in a rush — pressured speech it was called, in the books Cas had been reading. He figured at least one person in the bunker should know about trauma’s effects, and twelve years’ experience had taught him it wouldn’t be the Winchesters.

“You know, when Dean and me were kids we- we didn’t always have a lot to eat. A lot of the time we didn’t have enough to eat. And Dean would… Dean would always feed me first.” He stops and takes a heaving breath, then three, hands clenching and unclenching arhythmically in front of him. They’re hovering just above the kitchen counter without touching, arms held awkwardly aloft like he doesn’t know where to put them. He’s curled forward, and down, head and shoulders hunched in. He looks pained.

The instinct to make oneself small learned from a childhood desperately trying to hide from the reality of his own life. Cas has long since chased away the instinct to get angry about their life before he knew them, but he never stops feeling the sadness of it. There is a deep well of agony that will never be truly told.

“The portions were already so small and he’d- he’d do this thing where he’d, like, eat half his meal and pretend to be full so he could pass the rest on to me. Never took no for an answer. And of course at first I was too young to notice what he was really doing, but then I was twelve, thirteen, and he’d still feed me like I was-” Sam winces, coughs out a small laugh, grimaces, drags his left hand over his face. “God, like I was his son. His ‘baby boy’ he used to say. And he was so thin for so long and-” Sam stops himself here, looking winded. He taps the fridge door sixteen times with his right hand as he bites at his left thumbnail.

“And obviously we were both fine in the end, Dean’s big and he’s tough but. Sometimes I get this-” he interrupts himself to tug his hands through his hair, sharp, “god it sounds so stupid but I get this thought that. That if Dean hadn’t had to feed me he’d be as tall as I am now and I get all. Normally it’s fine and I just laugh it off because it’s so ridiculous it is a ridiculous thought.” There’s a wet catch in Sam’s throat, and he’s looking at Cas like he can’t tell if he’s about to laugh or cry.

Cas nods slowly, feeling sombre. “Dean is six feet and three quarter inches tall. He is hardly a small man, Sam.” He tries a small smile, to be encouraging, in-on-the-joke but not poking fun, but he can still never tell if he’s hitting the mark or not. A face has so many muscles, and only so much conscious control over them.

Sam surprises him by laughing and crying at the same time. “He’s six feet tall, and he’s one of the strongest humans I’ve ever met — despite being completely allergic to the concept of exercise and I hate him,” he rants, a hint of panic tingeing his voice purple, “so fucking much, and I’m so tired of his bullshit, and yet sometimes I startle awake at night in a panic convinced that I deprived him of his “true height” by having the audacity to be hungry.” The air quotes are a little twitchy, but the attempt to be funny is probably a good sign. Hopefully. Sam’s less prone to sarcasm as a cover for soul-crushing misery than his brother.

Sam starts rearranging the sauce bottles scattered by the stove, hands jerky with the motion. Cas notes in the back of his mind to put them back in place once Sam calms down — Dean needs the kitchen just so. He’s been prone to his own late night trips down memory lane, lately, and he doesn’t need the added stress of obsessive compulsive cleaning on top of it all.

“I told you it was stupid, Cas,” he splutters, and he’s fully crying now, teetering on the edge of hysterical. “Christ, I feel like such an infant.”

Done with the cleaning, Cas folds his cloth into a neat rectangle, hangs it carefully through the loop of the oven door handle as he passes by. He picks up a clean cloth from the pile in the cupboard below the sink too. He heads towards Sam, movements slow and careful to give him a chance to back away — Sam’s liable to startle like a rabbit even on his best days. Cas has been trying his hardest not to trigger it; the ‘fight/flight/freeze instinct’ as he’d learned. It’s helped him understand a lot of Sam and Dean’s reaction better. He only wishes he’d known about it sooner.

He presses his hand gently to the outside of Sam’s elbow, looks him in the eyes and holds his gaze steady. “It’s not foolish, Sam. But surely, your childhood was full of enough tragedy, that you needn’t add to it.”

Sam’s breathing is heavy and ragged, and his eyes are darting between Cas, and the walls, and the condiments he’s still twitching across the counter. He stops, breathes deep, tugs his long sleeves down over his hands and dabs at his wet face. He huffs a laugh between bouts of sobs, mutters something that sounds like “Yeah, yeah, doesn’t help me stop thinking it though,” but Cas can’t be entirely sure, because Sam’s speaking into his shirt cuffs with hands clamped tight over his mouth.

Cas moves his hand slowly from Sam’s elbow to his shoulder, leans in slow to bring his other arm around Sam’s back and hold him loose to his chest. Sam gasps loudly and sobs, wet, shoves his face into the front of Cas’ shoulder indelicately as he responds with his own arms. He clutches at the back of Cas’ coat and weeps, done with trying to hold it all in. He’s shaking less now, but it’s impossible to know whether it’s progress or if he’s turning further inward without seeing his face.

Cas pulls him closer and moves the hand on his back upwards, rubs it in slow, careful circles across his shoulder blades. Pressure is good, he’d read, especially with flashbacks. Pressure grounds you in the present; a small, physical beacon of something that’s unquestionably real. He’s not sure if Sam notices or appreciates it, but he’s not going to ask; doesn’t want to run the risk of making their home feel clinical.

It seems like the kind of crying where speaking wouldn’t help, so he lets it run its course. He keeps up the pressure at Sam’s back, and takes his palm to pet at Sam’s hair, something he’d seen Dean do so many times. Sam seems to jump at first, coughing once into Cas’ sodden shirt, but doesn’t move or ask him to stop, so after a long moment of awkwardly holding his hand still on top of his head he strokes his fingers out, and Sam sighs on the end of a gurgle.

Cas hears words now and then, ‘stupid’s and ‘christ’s and once, bafflingly, ‘fucking lucky charms’, but for the most part Sam seems content to simply cry until he stops. It’s not a quick thing. The air stills around them as Sam calms, gentled down from wracking gasps to sniffling tears, to simple heavy breaths.

Extricating himself is a clumsy affair even for Sam. His arms seem to catch, held in that clutching shape by the tension of the moment, and he has to slowly roll all of his joints loose. He unfurls slowly, like a flower in sunlight, until he stands back at full height. He does look brighter, now, and he carries the crackle of something almost like grace in him, Cas thinks. Peace always shines out of a person.

He grasps Cas’ upper arm for a moment, takes the offered cloth to dry his face before handing it back to Cas and gesturing at the front of his shirt. From the wry, wrinkled-nose smile he throws him as he steps away, Cas thinks he’s also realised the shirt is already a lost cause, but Cas pats himself down anyway, something to occupy his hands for a moment.

Sam leans back briefly to rest against the counter, then gets a different idea and twists around toward the cupboards. He takes out three cups, some chamomile tea, fills the kettle up to the line drawn on the side in red sharpie. “Thanks, Cas,” he whispers with his head in a cupboard, ears tinting red. “I - heh - think I needed that.” He huffs a laugh again, some genuine mirth in it now. “Sorry about your shirt.”

“It’s quite alright. How are you feeling?” Cas can feel himself gazing a little too intensely, watching for Sam’s reactions, but he’s not worried. They know eachother well enough now that Cas can predict what would happen if it got too much; Sam would tell him knock it out, would you, would punch him lightly on the upper arm. He’d most likely try to crack a joke that would land flat, because Sam and Cas have never understood eachother’s humour very well, even when Sam isn’t sleep deprived and beginning to fade at the edges. Cas would apologise and start cleaning again just to keep out of his way. Out of his hair, as Dean would say. These are familiar dances.

Cas also knows he’s not likely to do it though, that Sam is used to his staring. And then he’s blindsided by another thought — that Sam is used to him. His presence and his quirks and his whims. Cas feels himself smile at that, warm, knowing that it’s true. They’re standing in the kitchen, in their home, and Sam just got snot all over his shirt — the shirt he’ll have to wash, manually, and iron, because he’s not really an angel anymore, doesn’t have the grace to maintain his signature look without effort anymore. The shirt that he’ll still choose to put on each morning when he could choose something simpler — because he trusts Cas enough to subject him to his 3am childhood trauma meltdowns. Cas is a human, with inexorably fallible human hands, and Sam is willing to hand him his heart in the quiet hours of the morning for a little field surgery. Cas almost thinks he feels a little sick.

#spn fic #mine #spn #cptsd manifesto #blank tag to keep out of searches #sam winchester #castiel

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hithelleth · 4 years ago

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Multi shipper challenge, Revolution

1. Jason

2. Kripkes nerdy self insert with the glasses whose name I've blocked out

3. The dead blond brother (bonus question: would he be know today as a himbo)

4. The worst doctor in the world

5. That guy we all considered the bicycle who was Bass' devoted side piece but it turns out the actor is Trump garbage so now everyone ignores him

6. Charlie, but only your top two

Ah, a classic! ;)

1. What was it called, Charlett? I mean Jason/Charlie/Connor. I think this one might be your fault. ;) And, well, obviously Jarlie, though I only really started shipping them after went to Canada, because of course. Also, I did ship Jason/Danny in the early days.

2. Aaron? Oh, god, I don’t think I shipped him with anyone. He was just a terrible boyfriend all around who either ditched a woman in the middle of the road or got her killed. Or turned into a weird nano-spokeperson. yeah, no, no ships for Aaron. (See, every rule has an exception, even me being a multishipper. ;))

3. Danny? Yeah, I think he would be known as himbo today. Danny/Bass (I even wrote fic. Oops.) Danny/Heather (Great, now I remembered the unfinished fic.) And as mentioned before, Danny/Jason.

4. Gene? I think the answer will be the same as for Aaron. No ships for shitty docs.

5. Jeremy: certainly with Bass, also chain-of-command aka Jeremy/Bass/Miles, but my personal fave is Jeremy/Emma. Also, Jeremy/Maggie (and now I remembered another WIP. *sigh*) and Jeremy/Charlie. (Well, he was a fandom bicycle. And don’t remind me of MP, we in ole commie countries have an expression for people like him.)

6. Well, I don’t really have that many ships for Charlie, you know? But top two would be Charlie/Bass and CM2.

This was a fun trip down the memory lane, thank you for indulging me, Bea! :) <3

( Multishipper challenge. )

#bea2me #ask #answered #ask meme #multishipper challenge

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retvenkos · 5 years ago

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fanfic ask meme: tuesday, wednesday, thursday, friday, september, october, november, yesterday, tomorrow! (sorry if that's a lot, I just love your writing and want to know more - also, hi Olive!)

CLARA! I haven’t talked to you in forever, lol, I hope you’re doing okay!

tuesday: name a fic you have posted which you think is overrated?

okay, unpopular opinion, but my most overrated fic is easily “it felt right... it still does.” which is actually a headcanon set, but when you see the number of notes this post has gotten me, you’ll understand why it takes the cake. it’s just overrated because i wrote it a couple years ago and it’s not my best work, but it keeps getting notes to this day, every time i check the activity page and see what my most popular post is for the month, it’s this one.

wednesday, thursday, and september have been answered here

friday: most self-indulgent fic you have ever posted?

okay, bit of a trip down memory lane, here,,, in 2017 (?) i wrote a vvv indulgent fic for my friends and i and posted it on fanfiction.net. it was 56 parts and included no less than 4 oc’s in a marauder era fanfiction for harry potter. my friends and i were the ocs, and it was my first foray into fanfiction and insert writing. it has since been taken down because i have a healthy amount of shame, but it still exists in my google docs and my friends have been bugging me to rewrite it and actually finish it (i had about 20 more parts planned - it was an experience™).

october: name the darkest or angstiest fic you have written and/or posted?

ooooh,,, that’s hard. i don’t really do dark stuff so much as i do angst, and i do love to pepper it in everywhere i go, so this is hard. i would say that i have a lot of angst in my tuck everlasting masterlist because i did a whole week in august dedicated to angst for them. i also think it’s worth plugging mosaics, again, because that’s pretty angsty, but i also think that anymore and betrayal are pretty sad? those are both hadestown fics. another worth mentioning is probably eternity for allison hargreeves?

i don’t know - i have a lot of soft angst, if that makes sense, so there’s a lot to choose from. i’m also indecisive as hell if you haven’t noticed. i don’t really to dark fic, so you won’t find much of that.

november: do you have any rituals or requirements for getting in the mood for writing?

i don’t? i mean, i definitely prefer to write in my room or my back to the wall so that no one can look over my shoulder, but i have written everywhere and it’s really just about when i get struck with inspiration. i used to write in class if i had the time - on the chromebook, too, no shame (i’m a mess). i used to write in the library. i’ve written in the car. my mom knows i write fanfiction, so it’s not like i keep it a secret, and my siblings don’t care so i’m free to do it most everywhere.

tomorrow: favourite ways to write fluff?

okay, here we go. for fluff, i mostly write the more content fluff? like, they’re usually one shots, so it’s just a really comfortable, happy moment rather than anticipation and that kind of forward moving fluff. like, there are rarely stakes when i write fluff. it’s kind of a stagnant, suspended moment that just exudes warmth. i very much write that fic that has no plot, just warm vibes. all i want is for my characters to be cuddling, having tired conversations while the fire dies in front of them. plot? we don’t need her! all we need is every conceivable synonym for “smile” and 10 different ways to describe warmth.

yesterday: favourite way to write angst?

my favorite question that is also simultaneously the hardest to answer? i guess i would say i write angst slow - and i mean i choose words that make me read it slowly. it’s similar to how i write fluff - i feel like melancholy and contentment are stagnant emotions, and so i try to make the reader go slowly through the thought process. My favorite thing when writing angst is metaphors!!! anything to make the reader feel heavy.

I just noticed the other day that I have used the phrase “their mind was a cavern that ate itself raw” or “their mind was a cavern and ate at all they were” no less than four times in completely different projects, so that’s something kind of odd to note.

also, angsty fics are my longest ones because it’s always a journey - i like to explain why their emo, and maybe they don’t always get a happy ending, but you understand their grief. angsty fics are the hardest to end because i spend a lot of time in retrospect - i like to start the fic when they’re at their worst, emotionally, and then give context - so it’s hard to find a natural stopping point.

but yeah! those are my thoughts! (and don’t feel bad about giving me so many, i love these prompts and want to answer them!)

#but lol don't come to me for advice your writing is god tier #olive rambles #asks

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snowbellewells · 5 years ago

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“Over the Realms and Through the Woods, to Arendelle We Go”

A @cssecretsanta2k19 gift for @xhookswenchx

“Over the Realms and Through the Woods, to Arendelle We Go”

By: @snowbellewells

This is my belated @cssecretsanta2k19 gift for @xhookswenchx ~ and I truly am sorry for making you wait extra days, Lovely. It was such a busy December, then I traveled home, had family engagements, and so on. But talking with you and learning different things about the show and the holidays that you enjoyed, put this idea in my head early. I just needed the time to write it down. I have very much enjoyed being your Secret Santa. I hope that your Christmas was Merry, that you will have a Happy and Blessed New Year. Please enjoy this story gift just for you!

Summary: Emma and Killian take their crew on a holiday road trip to visit old friends and make new Christmas memories… A CS canon divergent in which the realms have been joined as they were in Season 7’s finale, but Henry has not left the Land Without Magic as he did in Season 7. I always imagined him going out into the non-magical world for college, to write books, and so on (at least once it became clear they weren’t all going to make a permanent move back to the Enchanted Forest). So for the purposes of this fic, he is home for the holidays from college, and Emma and Killian also have two little ones of their own. I used the daughter of my fictional invention, Morgan Ruth Jones, rather than Hope. She’s appeared in some of my other fics, and I’m kinda attached to her. I’ve gathered you enjoy original CS kids in your writing and reading as well, so I hope you won’t mind that liberty taken. I know that Westley Graham is not as completely original as I thought it was when I dreamed it up, but I love it too (especially since the show gave us so many Liams to keep track of already without naming a son of Emma and Killian’s Liam David as I once would have done). Westley for the character in “Princess Bride” (‘As you wish’ makes that seem appropriate) and Graham for the hero they should have been naming baby boys after in canon. You also said you really enjoyed the “Frozen” characters in 4a, so I have tried to incorporate them - and found it to be a fun new character writing stretch. I truly do hope you will find this fun to read!

*************

“Papa, how much longer?” a tiny voice piped up from the backseat over Killian and Emma Jones’ shoulders with the wheedling tone only a four-year-old’s impatience could muster. “Are we almost there?”

Emma glanced over at her husband with bland exasperation and humor mixed together before swiveling in her seat as much as possible to look back at their daughter Morgan where she sat in her car seat behind Killian, idly alternating between swinging her feet and singing little nonsense songs she made up for herself, staring out the window at the changing scenery as they traveled from one united realm to another, heading ever steadily north toward Arendelle to visit Elsa, Anna, Kristoff, and Morgan’s best friend Sonja, Princess Anna and her husband’s little girl.

Henry, comfortably on his long winter break from his senior year at Boudoin College, had his nose buried in a detective whodunit, and though he was usually quite patient with his much-younger sister, he seemed to be craving some reading time to himself that Emma was willing to humor. She would like to keep them both fairly quiet so that Westley Graham, their youngest at just barely five months, didn’t wake up quite yet from where he was peacefully sleeping in his own backward-facing car seat between his two siblings and where Emma could reach him if needed.

Killian, for his part, chuckled indulgently, his sparkling blue gaze sliding back over to return Emma’s look before answering his little girl, seeming infinitely patient and making Emma love him even more all over again “We are getting closer, little Love,” he assured calmly. “You’ve been very good - and we should be there within the hour now.”

For a moment, Morgan merely nodded and hummed to herself in satisfaction as she watched the scenery pass by out the window. Once they had left Storybrooke behind, the buildings had given way to the forest, thicker and more wild as they had passed through the land of Emma’s birthright rule - the Enchanted Forest. Since then, the forest had thinned out, and slowly the flatter land became foothills, which then turned into snow capped mountains - something which really did seem to almost sparkle before their eyes - not to mention the imaginative view of a toddler. But it wasn’t long before she piped up again, still obviously a bit impatient and unable to hold it in. “Papa? Can you sing a song? … Please?”

Emma snort-laughed at the way her husband’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, not expecting that particular request if his expression could be any indication. Shaking his head, he admitted defeat rather easily for a once-fearsome pirate of the Seven Seas, especially when she playfully jostled his shoulder, egging Morgan on and adding the she would like to hear him as well.

It wasn’t long before Killian’s clear, strong voice was ringing out within the walls of their newer smallish SUV, having left the Bug at home in favorite of more passenger leg room and space for the wealth of presents they were bringing along, both from their immediate family and her parents and other Storybrooke folks who had come to know the Arendellian visitors when they were in the Land Without Magic some years back. The tune her pirate had selected was a rollicking sea shanty - one of their daughter’s favorites - that he and his crew had once sung on the Jolly Roger many years ago as they circled the waters of Neverland endlessly. His song and its playful, raucous melody seemed practically bouncing around the interior of the vehicle, swaying with the rolling buoyancy of its rhythm and pulling Henry from his reading to grin at the song he had heard countless times before. Thankfully Westley didn’t seem in the least disturbed, sleeping right through the impromptu serenade, and Morgan was giggling and clapping her little hands along with her papa’s song. Emma soon found herself singing along as well, watching her family in their joyous uproar, and marveling at the reality that this was the sort of cozy Christmas journey she could have now.

Killian seemed so into his song, and his children’s entertainment, that Emma couldn’t help checking to be certain he was still paying attention to the road ahead. It hadn’t really been until the last couple of years that Killian had begun to take over some driving duties for them on longer trips; having learned to drive capably well before that, but never fully becoming comfortable with - or trusting - their “horseless death traps”, as he often called them. Modern automobiles still seemed smoky, loud, and entirely too unpredictable to a person long used to ships on the sea or riding horseback and in carriages - not to mention one whose first experience with them had been being run down on the road and seriously injured.

All the same, he shot her a look of exaggerated affront as he finished singing, waggling those wildly expressive eyebrows of his at her and pressing his hooked arm to his chest in further drama. “Honestly, Wife? Don’t you trust me more than that by now?” Taking his hook from where it covered his heart, he gestured out the window to indicate the lane beside them. “I may not be as old a hand at driving as most, but I won’t drive us under a semi trailer like that Griswold fellow on the magic box.”

It was Henry who snorted his laughter then, at the reference to National Lampoon’s which they had watched the night before, prior to setting off on their journey. Shaking his head at his stepdad’s odd way of reassuring him, and humored in spite of himself, Henry placed a marker in his book and more fully joined their antics, now that they were drawing nearer to their friend’s kingdom anyway. Danger and adventure, or just taking a family trip; be it Christmas or some random everyday in between, there was never a dull moment with their little crew.

~~~~~***~~~~~***~~~~~

When they entered the Arendelle borders and pulled up to the palace’s front gates, within 45 minutes’ time just as Killian had promised Morgan, the sense of awed anticipation settled over all of them, the air inside the car going quiet at the stunning beauty that met their eyes. Somewhere within the last half hour or so, light flurries of snow had begun to fall around them, looping and twirling through the slowly purpling sky as afternoon inched closer to evening. The ground had already been covered in a picturesque light dusting of white, but it was growing deeper as the additional fluffy flakes continued.

Thankfully, ice didn’t seem to be a part of this particular snowy scene; the roads had remained safely passable and they had made good time. Four uniformed guards two on either side of the wide, silvery sparkling arch and gates of the front entrance to the Queen’s castle and grounds, bowed respectfully as the passageway opened for them. Emma had spoken to her dear friend via magic mirror that morning before they set out, and their arrival had clearly been anticipated.

Despite having been there several times before by that point, all over them sat in openmouthed adoration that overcame them for a few breathless instants. The setting sun hit the gate and front of the castle, sending glitter and sparks of light out to dazzle their eyes. It was as if the whole structure were indeed beautifully coated in ice - and yet there was none of the frigid austerity one might once have feared. Queen Elsa of Arendelle has long since found her equilibrium, allowing her the self-acceptance and open understanding to balance the cold with genuine warmth. She learned to love every part of herself - including her powers - just as she had once helped Emma to do, and as Killian had reminded her ever since.

Their vehicle had barely parked, and they were just stepping out and stretching their tired limbs when they heard familiar voices calling their names, a childish squeal of delight yelping Morgan’s in particular, the sound of several pairs of feet hurrying over freshly fallen snow (well, feet and one set of reindeer hooves) and then they were engulfed in a flurry of hugs and handshakes by the royal family themselves. Anna was predictably firing questions at them as quickly as she could voice them, about their trips, the rest of their family, Belle and the library, without even allowing them time to answer. Kristoff was shaking Killian’s hand and accepting baggage and gift wrapped boxes to lead them inside. Sven snuffled around Henry’s pockets and Morgan’s hair seeking out carrots and other treats as well as providing his own animal greeting. But through the melee, Elsa pressed through to wrap Emma in a fiercely tight hug for several long moments. When she did pull back, it was with a watery smile and unshed tears in her eyes to match those which started in Emma’s.

“I’m so glad all of you have come,” she stated fervently, that sweet, melodious voice trembling with sincerity beyond its usual poise. “Come in, come in. We’ll get you warm and settled, then we can get caught up.”

Emma nodded, pressing the queen’s hand tightly in her own, before turning to grab more luggage and unfasten Westley from his car seat to do as Elsa suggested.

“Let me help you,” her friend offered, holding out her arms to take the still-sleepy child so Emma could reach the suitcase behind. “May I?”

Emma didn’t hesitate for even a second, easily passing her just-barely-stirring-to-wakefulness infant into her friend’s arms, moving her hand gently so Elsa could cradle Westley’s head and crooning lowly to him until he settled again, rooting deeper into the young queen’s arms as a pleased and rosy smile pinked her cheeks.

Throwing a surreptitious glance over to Killian, only to find him watching her with a comforting smile that already knew where her mind had gone and wished he could undo the old hurt, Emma shook her head to clear the memory as best she could and send her husband a small grin as reassurance that she would be fine. As much as she had tried to banish the moment from her mind, and as much as the sharpest stinging slap of betrayal had faded, Emma still saw her own mother pulling little Neal away from her, protectively fearing her magic and not letting Emma hold her younger brother. Intellectually, Emma knew her mother loved her, magic or no, realized that the knee-jerk reaction had not been aimed to hurt her… and yet… it had.

Watching Elsa as various emotions flitted across her face while cradling her friend’s youngest in her arms, gazing down at the drowsy babe adoringly, Emma knew Elsa had felt that same fear and suspicion she had, and that perhaps Elsa had almost resignedly expected her request to be denied, knew that parental protectiveness all too well, and had been thrilled when she was granted trust instead.

Little Westley Graham did nothing more than flutter his eyelids briefly without fully rousing and gave a slight coo of contentment as the Queen bowed her head to press a light kiss to the top of his downy, sandy-colored hair. “Come on then everyone,” she suggested cheerfully, looking as merry and confident as they had ever seen her and leaving Emma blessedly assured of her friend’s happiness. “There’s hot chocolate with plenty of marshmallows in the large sitting room.”

She led the way, with Killian, Henry, and Kristoff bringing up the rear to make sure no overexcited little girls, snowmen, or reindeer were left behind. It didn’t take long to find their luggage placed in their rooms, their coats and snow boots shucked off, and all of them seated comfortably scattered around the large open room full of soft chairs and sofas, a roaring fire in the hearth at one end, and plates of toast and jam, cookies, doughnuts, scones and a whole pot of rich hot chocolate with marshmallows set out for the taking.

Conversation hummed warmly throughout the room as the kids played; Henry showing Olaf, Sonja, and his little sister how to make a chain of snow angels for the tree while the four adults caught up on all that had happened since they were last together. Westley had woken up, but to everyone’s surprise, the little boy had not cried or fussed for his mother, and so Elsa still held him gladly. His guileless blue eyes, the mirrored hue of his pirate father’s, blinked up at her curiously, looked more enthralled that concerned by the less familiar person holding him. One pudgy little hand unclenched to reach up toward her almost startlingly white braid and wrapped around the end of it, tugging gently with his tiny fist, and burbling happily as he did.

Elsa practically giggled, a musical, enchanting sound that the rest of them had rarely heard, and a light carefree look graced her face beautifully. “You really are quite a sweetheart, aren’t you?” she whispered to the little one softly.

She did eventually hand Westley back to Emma when he began to wiggle and wanted to eat. Once Emma returned with him after his feeding, she found the Queen of Arendelle seated cross-legged on the floor with Morgan and her niece watching wide-eyed beside her as Elsa effortlessly shaped and reshaped whorls and twists of ice into glittering ornaments she handed them to place on a tree they had left bare for that very entertainment. The girls let out little ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ of excitement and surprise with each shape that seemed to bloom from Elsa’s hands into thin air. Each new creation brough exclamations of delight, and the two children then ran to their papas at the tree to lift them up to place them high on the branches, then hurried back to see what ‘Auntie Elsa’ would create next.

As the decorating eventually wound down, the two little whirlwinds huffing and puffing from all their trips back and forth over the length of the room, and Elsa lightly chuckling at their theatrics, Killian came to sit near them as well, gathering Morgan into his lap and nodding encouraging at Sonja until she scooted up close to his side as well. Soon he was telling them a story of the first time he saw snow fall at sea as a young lad. He remembered how it looked trailing down to rest on nearly frozen arctic water, where their captain had unwisely taken them too far north for the season.

He was relating how his older brother Liam had distracted him by encouraging his wonder at the beauty of the sight. Killian himself had not realized until much later - a similar instance on his own ship facing the very real danger of ice floes in the water and the precarious travel a ship must make in the depths of winter driving the memory home - just how much danger they had been in that night as he had simply marveled at what seemed to his young mind cold falling stars of sparkling light. “He said each one was unique - no other could exactly take the place of the one before. Like people, Liam said they were…” Killian nearly whispered this last over the sudden lump in his throat, seemingly lost in another time and place. Emma reached out a hand to rest upon his knee, and he came back to them with a bit of a start, the faroff gaze clearing from his eyes. “Like us even,” he added. “We might have been expendable slaves to most - but we mattered, at least to each other, and he always made sure I knew that.”

Both of their daughters had drifted off to sleep by then; the excitement of the day overtaking them once they had settled in to listen to Killian’s quiet, lilting voice. Kristoff came to lift Sonja from Killian’s side to carry her to her room, wishing the rest of them goodnight. Anna followed with a contented wave as Sven trailed behind, headed outside to his barn to bed down for the night.

Queen Elsa’s gaze remained on Killian, though the story had finished. There was a melancholy, almost wistful, look within her light eyes as she seemed to consider the story yet. “He sounds like the best sort of big brother,” she finally said to Killian softly, and gentle and a bit sad smile curving her lips. “I wish I could have met him….” This last was said almost hesitantly, as if she herself did not quite know why it had slipped out, and yet she nodded determinedly after, as if confirming the sentiment.

“I wish you could have met him too, Milady,” Killian answered fervently, his voice a bit hoarse and husky with the regret and pain of still missing his elder sibling, even after ages had passed. “Maybe it’s just something about the way a younger sibling sees a beloved older one, but at times I can see something of Liam in you.”

Elsa smiled once more, gratefully accepting what for Killian must be the highest compliment he could give someone. The three of them settled into a sort of peaceful remembrance of those no longer with them - bittersweet but not unpleasant, as they were reminiscing of good times and not just their loss - before she rose as well to retire for the night.

Her exit left Emma and Killian seated cozily before the fire together, one last mug of hot chocolate in each of their hands and the silent beauty of the room around them, still decked out for Christmas, and snow still falling outside, weaving a lovely spell. Tilting her head up, Emma found Killian’s lips waiting to capture hers tenderly, sipping from them as if they were even more delicious than the chocolate and twice as precious. “I love you, my Darling,” he murmured against her cheek as his kisses trailed back to the spot behind her ear that made her melt on the spot.

Practically keening back that she loved him too, Emma held her husband even tighter, wanting nothing else she could possibly imagine in that moment. As she gazed into Killian’s blue, blue eyes she could see the future of them, and their family, together, and she knew the coming year would be their best one yet.

Tagging: @cssecretsanta2k19 @xhookswenchx @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @thisonesatellite @profdanglaisstuff @resident-of-storybrooke @revanmeetra87 @teamhook @hollyethecurious@winterbaby89 @darkcolinodonorgasm @hollyethecurious @gingerchangeling @spartanguard @lfh1226-linda

#cssecretsanta2k19 #cs canon divergence #cs holiday oneshot #ouat holiday au

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emmerrr · 7 years ago

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♖ andreil pls (bc as Charles Boyle would say "That's the most intimate thing you can do to a lover with your fingers")

listEN I lost it when I saw this in my askbox, charles is who I thought of immediately when I saw that prompt! I’m gonna combine it with some other prompts I hope that’s okay!

anonymous asked: i’m living for these prompts! i love your writing! everything is so soft and lovely 😊 😍❤️ if you have time can you do andreil and ♟?? it seems to suit them ;) [thank you so much :) ]

anonymous asked:♗ Andreil I love your writing!!! [thanks!]

anonymous asked:Andreil prompt; ♢: Forehead or cheek kisses

anonymous asked:hello, could i please have ♣ or ♚ with andreil? btw just wanted to tell you how much i love the fics you write. you’re a wonderful writer and i adore you <3 [thanks you’re the sweetest!]

♖: Having their hair washed by the other

♟: Patching up a wound

♗: One falling asleep with their head in the other’s lap.

♢: Forehead or cheek kisses

♣: Back scratches or ♚: Head scratches

SUPER COMBO. LET’S GO! <3 (also I know this is fulfilling prompts but it’s also the most self-indulgent thing I’m so sorry lmao) [read on ao3]

as of now, I only have one andreil prompt left to do but I think I’m probably gonna leave it a few weeks because I want to do something christmassy with it. bear with me, anon! also I wrote a renison prompt which you can find here if that’s your thing.

please don’t send me anymore! :)

*warnings for brief blood mention and a minor injury.*

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Neil said, looking up from the sports pages with a frown. There was an article in there about Kevin that Neil wanted to cut out and frame just to annoy Andrew.

The man himself was leaning against the kitchen counter, a bread-roll in his hand that he was slicing with a sharp knife, the blade inching ever closer to Andrew’s palm.

“Do what,” Andrew asked with absolutely no inflection.

“That,” Neil said. Andrew knew full-well what he was talking about; it had been brought up many times before. “One of these days you’re going to cut your hand, and I won’t feel sorry for you.”

The look Andrew shot Neil was dripping with derision. “I do this nearly every day and it hasn’t happened yet.”

“It only takes once.”

Andrew rolled his eyes but made no further reply, and Neil returned his attention to the paper, Kevin’s triumphant game-winning grin staring back at him. The season had just drawn to a close, Kevin’s team narrowly beating out Matt’s in the final. Neil and Andrew’s team had lost to Kevin’s in the semi-final; it still stung, but Neil was proud anyway, of himself and Andrew and the rest of their team. He was even prouder of Kevin.

For now though, he was just looking forward to an extended break. He’d been quietly pleased when Andrew had joined him for a run this morning, and now back, he was planning on hopping in the shower as soon as he’d finished with the paper. Maybe he’d be able to convince Andrew to join him there, too.

“Neil.”

“Hm?”

“You can say ‘I told you so’ if you want.”

“What?” Neil looked up and Andrew was holding his hand over the sink, dripping blood. “Oh fuck, Andrew.”

Neil was out of his chair in an instant and over to the sink. He took Andrew’s wrist and gently turned it over so he could see the wound. Across Andrew’s palm was a thin line; not deep, but still bleeding.

“Is it deep?” Andrew asked. He wasn’t looking at his injured hand but the slight furrow on his brow indicated that it was causing him some discomfort. “I’m not going to the hospital. If it needs stitches, you can do it.”

“It’s not that bad,” Neil said. He turned the tap on and rinsed Andrew’s hand underneath, then grabbed some kitchen paper and stuffed it onto the cut until he could hunt down their well-stocked first-aid kit. “You won’t need stitches.”

He pulled Andrew over to the kitchen table and sat him down, then took Andrew’s other hand and pressed it against the paper towels. “Hold those there, I’ll be right back.”

It took Neil a couple of minutes to track down the first-aid kit in the bathroom. It got more use than he’d like, thanks to the rough nature of their jobs, not to mention Neil was a little accident-prone.

Back in the kitchen, he sat down opposite Andrew and dug through the kit, pulling out disinfectant and bandages. He held his hand out expectantly, and Andrew dropped his injured one straight into it.

Neil carefully pulled away the paper towels and put them aside. “This might sting a little,” he said, and set about cleaning the wound with disinfectant.

Andrew sat through the whole thing in stoic silence, not even a wince as Neil cleaned him up then carefully set about wrapping a bandage around his hand. It wasn’t until Neil was finishing up and taping the bandage in place that Andrew finally spoke up.

“Just fucking say it, Neil.”

“I’m not going to say ‘I told you so’,” Neil said with a sigh. He pressed down on the tape and inspected his handiwork. Satisfied, he got up and packed the first-aid kit away, aware of Andrew watching him the entire time. He smiled, then leaned down and kissed Andrew’s forehead. “I did fucking tell you, though.”

“There it is.”

As it happened, Andrew did end up in the shower with Neil, albeit more out of necessity than anything else. They had to bag his hand so the bandage didn’t get wet, and showering one-handed wasn’t exactly the easiest of tasks.

Neil hurriedly washed his own hair then turned his attention to Andrew. The second his fingers were in Andrew’s hair, hazel eyes slid shut.

“I remember,” Neil said thoughtfully as he lathered up Andrew’s blond hair, “when you had to do this for me.”

Andrew’s eyes flickered back open. “Well, if we’re taking a trip down memory lane, that’s not the only thing I did for you.”

Only Andrew could reference a blow job with such a disinterested expression, and Neil snorted a laugh. “I could do that too. If you want.”

Andrew hummed, considering. “Maybe later. Tired.”

“Okay,” Neil said fondly, before gently guiding Andrew’s head under the spray to rinse him off. “Now. Do you want the conditioner that smells like mangoes or the one that smells like vanilla?”

Andrew eyed the mango one with great distaste. “Vanilla. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Neil repeated, smiling as he squeezed some out into his hand. He worked it into Andrew’s hair. “So. What do you wanna do for the rest of the day.”

Andrew shrugged. “Nap first. I don’t care what we do later.”

“What do you need a nap for?”

Andrew glanced up at Neil. “Someone got me out of bed ridiculously early to go for a run.”

“Hey,” Neil chided. “You got up of your own accord. It’s not my fault you couldn’t bear to be without me for an hour.”

Andrew’s eyes flashed, but he didn’t deny it.

Neil grinned. With Andrew, it was so often in what he didn’t say, and Neil took these victories where he could.

Once out of the shower and dressed, Neil went to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee and clean up the mess Andrew had made when he cut his hand.

When it was tidy, Neil leaned back against the counter and waited for the coffee machine to beep. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked his messages. There were three unread; one from Matt, one from Nicky, one from Allison. He replied to Matt’s and Allison’s, but Andrew was going to call Nicky later anyway, so Neil could talk to him then.

He poured out two mugs of coffee and made his way over to the living room, but he paused in the doorway and watched for a moment because Andrew seemed to be having some sort of muted stand-off with the cats.

Andrew was sitting on the far seat of the sofa, glaring down at Sir and King who had spread themselves over the rest of it. They were clearly getting in the way of Andrew’s napping idea.

Neil cleared his throat lightly and Andrew looked up. “Come and move your useless fur-babies.”

“You move them,” Neil said, entering the room at last. “Just pick them up and put them on the floor.” He put the mugs on the coffee table.

“If I pick them up, they win,” Andrew said stubbornly. “Also, I’m injured.” He illustrated this by holding up his bandaged hand.

Neil looked at Andrew. Andrew looked back.

“You,” Neil said, “are a ridiculous human being.” He hoisted up a cat under each arm and deposited them on the floor, then sat down and reached for his coffee. As soon as he was sitting back, Andrew spread himself along the sofa, resting his head in Neil’s lap.

“This is a preemptive measure,” he explained tiredly. “So the cats don’t jump back up here.”

Neil took a sip of coffee and laughed lightly. “You know that won’t stop them, right?”

As if they were listening, both cats jumped up within seconds of each other. Sir settled down behind Andrew’s knees, King in front of his chest. Andrew huffed a very put upon sigh, but magnanimously refrained from shoving them off.

“Look at that,” Neil said. “Progress.”

“Shut. Up.”

Neil laughed again and leaned back a little more. He carefully lifted his feet and rested them on the coffee table, earning him a tiny annoyed grunt when he jostled Andrew’s head.

“Alright, alright,” he said, and settled his free hand in Andrew’s hair. “I was just getting comfy.” He scratched lightly at Andrew’s head and then stilled his hand.

A couple of seconds ticked by, then Andrew grunted again.

“What?” Neil asked.

Another grunt, this time punctuated by Andrew pushing his head into Neil’s hand just a little, until he got the message and started scratching again.

“You can use your words, y’know,” Neil said, but he couldn’t honestly say he minded having Andrew warm and comfortable and safe under his hands.

Andrew didn’t respond because he was also incredibly difficult, a trait that was often infuriating but occasionally endearing. Such as now.

By the time Neil had drained his coffee, Andrew’s breathing had gone suspiciously deep and even.

“Andrew,” Neil whispered. “Your coffee’s gonna go cold.”

But Andrew was most definitely asleep, and most definitely did not currently care about his coffee.

It was fine. Neil would make him more when he woke up.

Moving with painstaking slowness so as to minimise jostling Andrew, Neil put his mug back on the table. Then he leaned back, closed his eyes, and let the sounds of his cats obnoxious purring and Andrew’s soft breathing lull him to sleep.

He was home.

#tumblr prompts #andreil #tfc fic #tfc #the foxhole court

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veliseraptor · 7 years ago

Text

Did this one last year, and I figured I’d go ahead and do it again, because I love aggregate memes so much.

2017 Fanfiction Round-Up

Total Year-Long Wordcount: Okay so. I actually have an approximate near-exact number for this, though it includes some original fiction and some nonfiction, but as I actually put in the work for the full year of recording daily wordcount...

The total number of words I wrote between 1/1/16-12/31/17 was: 542,613.

so there’s that.

This year I wrote and posted: There 48 works on AO3 that were updated in 2017 (though some of those are multichapter) and there are 125 posts from this year in my fic tag, so I’m going to go with somewhere on the order of...um, maybe just over 100 including counting individual chapters of things?

Once again, this meme makes me feel like I’m kind of insane.

Overall Thoughts

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d predicted? I always feel like I’m surprised by how much I actually did write, because...idk, it doesn’t feel like that much most of the time when I’m doing it? But then I look back and like. I wrote somewhere between the word count of the entirety of Lord of the Rings and Atlas Shrugged. That actually is kind of a lot.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January? Hmmm. I did not expect to trip and fall headfirst into Loki/Grandmaster as a pairing but, as I have described, I really should have expected that. Barring that...it was an unexpected delight to write some Wheel of Time fic, even if I’ve been totally spoiled by writing for big fandoms.

Other than that, I feel like my fic this year was pretty par for the course for my usual.

What’s your own favorite story of the year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you happiest? This is hard, but ultimately I think I might have to go with Mending. I felt like...idk, it’s very close to my heart, and I felt like I really did a lot of what I wanted to with it.

But I also ended up feeling really proud of we’re not the only ones - it was a really fun outsider POV to write, and involved getting to explore some new character dynamics in an old ‘verse.

And then there’s Steve Rogers’ Halfway House for Notorious Supervillains, which has also been a complete and utter pleasure.

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them? Man...I’m not sure that I did. Other than the fact that I wrote sounding fic (finally) which is a kink I’ve always liked but never written. That was new and exciting, and turned out really well, actually. Other than that...I don’t know, it doesn’t really feel like a risk per se but I do feel like I embraced more this year just writing all the tropes I love and am periodically ashamed of, because you know what, why not.

From my past year of writing, what was….

My most popular story of this year: By kudos, still Life in Reverse, by far. After that, as far as stories written just this year: Steve Rogers’ Halfway House for Notorious Supervillains, and then the ship at the end of the universe.

The surprise for me is that the next one is The Breaking Light, which I really would not expect.

Most fun story to write: It feels weird to call it “fun” but oddly enough all the glamour and the trauma basically spilled out of me in one go.

Story with the single sexiest moment: I feel like the entirety of that spark of black that I seem to love was a sexiest moment for me.

Most “Holy crap, that’s wrong, even for you” story: This one was so much easier last year when I wrote The Vivisection Mambo which is still probably the creepiest, darkest story I’ve ever written! This year...hmm.

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters: I feel like writing both Halfway House and that spark of black that I seem to love both gave me new perspectives on characters - Steve for both, and also Bucky and Sam in Halfway House.

Hardest story to write: I feel like this one has to go to Privation, which took me, what, three years to finish?

Biggest Disappointment: I’m definitely disappointed in certain segments of fandom for their choice of response for certain methods of writing certain pairings.

Here’s looking at you, rude anons.

Also disappointed that I didn’t make more progress on Life in Reverse this year. I was really hoping to get further than I did.

Biggest Surprise: The response to Steve Rogers’ Halfway House for Notorious Supervillains and how positive it was. I was not expecting that story to get much of a response, but it really has, which delights me - it’s been a joy to write and I’ve been so excited by how much other people seem to be enjoying it, since it’s basically just a lot of talking and feelings, really.

Which I guess is kind of my specialty? But...still.

Most Unintentionally Telling Story: Maybe one hand on my throat, and one on your heart? It’s one of the most self-indulgent things I’ve written, possibly ever. Which is telling in a lot of ways about what I like.

But also probably...hm. All of my Loki/Grandmaster fics say a lot about me and what I like.

This one was easier last year, too. Maybe Mending/Reweaving, both of those are very...personal in weird ways.

Favorite Opening Line(s):

Apparently the new slogan that they should be operating under was “if something falls out of the sky, call the Avengers.” (look, behind you without a sound)

Loki was executed in a chamber hidden deep within the Raft prison. (the first part of the everything sucks AU)

If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend the dark was a choice. (Boxed In)

On Friday, May 4th, 2012, an alien came to Earth and warned of an invasion that would follow unless they listened very, very closely. (Ghosts That We Knew)

One of the things Loki had learned very quickly about survival in recent years was the necessity of compartmentalization. If something could not be changed, and could not be dealt with, then it had to be pushed aside and locked away to be dealt with later. Prioritize. Focus on the immediate necessities. Everything else could wait until later. Or, preferably, never. (all the glamour and the trauma)

Favorite Line(s) from Anywhere:

The city falls, and Idril’s eyes blaze with hatred, and there is blood in his eyes, and he swears he almost remembers this, almost dreamed it once. Soon he is going to wake up, in shadows under the trees, and he will be young again, and whole. (Seven Years)

No one, Loki had realized, broke all at once. You broke in stages, in bits and pieces, giving a little at a time until you looked at yourself and realized the pathetic scraps that were left, until you saw what was at the core and were sick at the knowing. (between the essence and the descent)

Nothing grows from anger, her mother had said once, before she died (was killed, left her, was murdered). Wanda thought she was wrong. Something was growing from hers. (object impermanence)

Loki lay awake through the night, staring upwards, trying to still his mind to no avail. There was a scream locked behind his teeth that he could not unleash. (untitled)

Loki’s eyes drifted mostly closed. “You cannot die,” he said. “That is your curse. And mine. We live and keep living, beyond endurance, beyond reason.” (a lane to the land of the dead)

How long, he wondered, had Loki been convinced of this? Further back than when he’d found out the truth about his heritage, Steve thought, or even Thor’s coronation. It was a wound so old Loki didn’t even notice the scar. (we can see the future (and the dreams it’s made of))

He didn’t know how to explain to Thor how it was to be in a situation where you knew that your refusal would have no meaning; that the only power you had was in choosing how to assent. (all the glamour and the trauma)

He loved Thor. He’d always loved Thor. Desperately, hopelessly, fatally. (farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear)

“Don’t be coy, Captain. There is so much anger burning in you. I can feel it. That violence seething just beneath the surface. It terrifies you, doesn’t it? So you hold it down and push it away. Stop fighting it. Embrace it.” He cocked his head to the side. “I am offering you an exorcism.” (that spark of black that I seem to love)

But maybe there was something to be said for standing, even if it was standing still. (the mercy covering me)

“You see yourself as trapped, Loki. Cornered. But there are doors in front of you, if you will choose to take them. I could choose for you, or your mother could. Your brother would like to drag you through. But whatever you choose now, it must be yours.” (Mending)

“Everything is eternal, and nothing is. Bonds wither and decay. I-” He shook his head, scowling. “This is what your lover and I argue about. Or one of the things. He doesn’t debate well.” (post war blues)

Thor’s smile made Loki want to smile back. He settled back down, and if it weren’t for - well, everything, it might almost have been one of their old rooms, back in Asgard, the two of them bandying words back and forth. But Thor had an eyepatch, the room was small and shabby, Asgard was ashes and so was the innocent purity of their brotherhood. (the ship at the end of the universe)

Top 5 Scenes from Anywhere You Would Choose to Have Illustrated:

I would love to have the scene illustrated from one hand on my throat, and one on your heart where Steve finds Loki, either just looking at him bent backwards and chained up suffering or where he’s trying to shake Loki out of the memory with Thanos.

Also anything from the Tapestries series, especially the scene at the end of Mending with Loki and Odin.

But honestly, like. Anything.

Fic-writing goals for 2018:

last year I wrote down “finishing ‘we’re not friends, we’re strangers with memories’” and I did that so this year I’m going to say “finish Life in Reverse”

get better at replying to peoples’ comments

finish the RTC: Ragnarok fic before Infinity War comes out

finish the Doctrine of Labyrinths and Merlin fics I’ve been sitting on forever

#confessions of a frustrated writer #meme #fanfiction round up

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imagine-that-haikyuu · 8 years ago

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one-year anniversary countdowns: our favorite scenarios/headcanons we’ve written

our first blogaversary is coming up on sunday, and we decided to celebrate by counting down our top 10 favorite pieces we’ve written, both of our own and of each other’s.

today’s post is our own favorite works that we’ve done for this blog!

may

10. Demon King!Oikawa falling in love with a human - i really barely know anything about demon king!oikawa so this was really tough and worrying for me to write (because i’m a stickler for details and i hate mis-characterizing anyone) but i am so glad it turned out okay. and i really like how it reads too lol 9. #15 - snuggling on the couch (with bokuto) - this is my first real drabble that i didn’t fuck up lol. as you guys know, i like my works drawn-out, lengthy and detailed. so being able to actually write something as cute as that thing and only in so many words made me immensely proud of myself lol. it put me out of my comfort zone and made allowed me to try something new 8. Close Call (with Kuroo) - this was fun to write! i generally have a bad time writing NSFW (what even is anatomy lol) but writing in that interrupted bit made my day lol 7. the Superhero AU (with Kuroo and Tsukishima) - ah yes. the first fic that i had mistaken for another request. i was surprised how easy it was to write this ngl. i had so much fun thinking up the superpowers and the dorky and corny names. i tend to steer away from superhero fics because of how hard it is to get everything straight lol, but this was so much fun to do 6. Pregnancy Scare (with Iwaizumi, Tsukishima, and Kuroo) - okay so i legit had a lot of fun with this one, but for the sake of there being 3 characters to write for, i cut kuroo’s waaaaay short. i liked thinking up different situations for this one, though, and i really hope all the emotions came through well enough 5. Decorating the Baby’s Room (with Oikawa) - so as i said on the post, i legit could not get the ideas of volleyballs as planets out of my head. writing it also made me remember my cousin’s old bedroom, which was filled with murals of disney princesses and spongebob and dora that my aunt hand-painted herself. it was a nice trip down memory lane while writing. 4. Fighting for the Best Seat (with Bokuto) - so. much. fun. writing this thing!!!! it’s a legit dream of mine to go to an animal cafe without getting attacked by allergies lol, so this is the closest i can get to that dream for now 3. Hitman!Kuroo falling in love - it’s dark, it’s angsty, and it’s just the type of fic i love to write, despite having such a hard time during the writing process itself lol. the terminology had me searching for “parts of a gun” and “pistol” on my office’s computer so i’m wondering what they must think of me now hahahaha 2. New Girl (with Ushijima) - this was so easy to write you cannot believe. seriously i think i finished it in two hours???? the idea came to me so suddenly and i just started typing it out and before i knew it, i was writing tendou being a supportive troll friend at the end! i seriously love this one omg 1. #42 - netflix marathon (with Kuroo) - so this is the drabble that i accidentally made into a fic. but for the life of me, this is by far my favorite one. i love sense8 and i love kuroo and i love binge watching shows so it seemed like i basically wrote myself in there. but seriously, this one is my ultimate fave of the ones i’ve written for this blog

rachel lauren (i had a few in multi-character ones that stood out, so those characters are bolded for emphasis)

10. S/O Sending Memes at 3 AM (Shiratorizawa starters + Semi) - my first “viral” post. aside from that, i had a blast writing this. my friends call me the resident memeologist, so getting to dig into my embarrassingly vast knowledge of memes and how the boys would react to them for this one was a lot of fun. 9. Friend Dumped (Tsukishima, Oikawa, Nishinoya) - if we talk outside of this blog, you probably know that it took me a very, very long time to warm up to oikawa. i only started liking him a little bit after i made this blog, but this is the request that made me enjoy him completely 8. Getting Back Together (Kuroo) - the request that launched a thousand kuroo/manager!reader ideas for me. i’m a sucker for broken-up couples still very much in love getting back together (i can’t help it! i’m a romantic!) 7. Fight (College!AU-ish) (Kuroo, Iwaizumi, Yamaguchi, Suga) - i love writing angst, especially where characters don’t die because death isn’t the only root of sadness, surprisingly. salt aside, yamaguchi’s was definitely my favorite of this group because i really examined his character for it. suga’s is up there too. all of them are, but these two were my favorite of the group 6. Interrupted Proposals (Valentine’s Day 2k17) (Ukai) - i mean, it’s a proposal request with my husband? if you don’t think i savored every minute writing this self-indulgent scenario, then i don’t know what to tell you. 5. Buying Condoms from Sakanoshita (Karasuno boys) - other than this being our most viral post, i had so much fun writing these. i still crack myself up reading some of them (noya’s, kags’, and tsukki’s especially) 4. Proposing (Kuroo, Asahi, Tanaka) - when my cousin proposed to his girlfriend-now-fiancee, i knew i had to use their story for something because it was so darn cute. it ended up fitting tanaka really well, and i’m so glad because i love that boy. and asahi’s was just....really cute 3. Ukulele | Morning Cuddles and Kisses (Ushijima) - it’s a tie for these two because they’re both fluffy and softboy toshi is a weakness of mine. actually, can i put all of my ushijima requests here??? because i feel so warm rereading them sometimes 2. A Happy Accident (Birthday 2k17) - i have to thank the anon who requested this, because this was essentially a plot point in that ukai/reader WIP i have so it forced me to write it. granted, there are some differences that i’m going to modify for the fic, but of course my husband was going to be up high on this list and this was so cute. i was more than happy to write it 1. Model Girlfriend (Asahi) - when i think about the work i’ve done on this blog, this is always the first one that comes to mind. i really do think this is the strongest writing i’ve filled a request with and i’ve got some decent ideas for asahi and the reader character for other potential pieces i’d write about these two, request or otherwise

and that’s a wrap on this top 10~

tomorrow we’re going to count down our favorite of each other’s works and then on sunday, we’re going to post a special announcement so stayed tuned for that!

- the admins

#not a request #one-year anniversary celebration #admin may #admin rachel lauren

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jugandbettsdetectiveagency · 8 years ago

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I'm here for the domestic!bughead prompts!! how about engaged Bughead looking through photos in order to use one for their wedding announcement on the paper but they stumble across their old childhood and adolescence ones and they end up laughing at how awful they are and zooming in on those that one of them is pulling a face or a photo that was captured at just the wrong moment and teasing each other and you know ALL THE FLUFFY FEELS! <3

Ahh, thank you for the cute prompt, m’love!I blame @lusterrdust and her adorable fic ‘feels like home’ for all these damn domestic feels <3

Jughead didn’t bother looking up from where he was editing the newest chapter of his latest novel as he heard Betty entering their living room. At least, that was until she settled down besides him, unceremoniously plucking the device from his hands and resting it on her lap. He looked at her incredulously, a smile twitching at the corners of his slightly open mouth.

“What do you think you’re doing, Betts?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest and angling his body towards her. She didn’t notice his surprise, or if she did she chose not to indulge him, busying herself with plugging her hard drive into the laptop and finding what she wanted.

“Just borrowing this,” she chirped, scrolling through the endless files that popped up on the screen. He chuckled.

“So what, I put a ring on your finger and suddenly you think what’s mine is yours?” he quipped sarcastically, leaning in to try and catch her eyes, his own glinting with mischief. She cast a smirk at him,

“Conventionally, yes.” He settled back against the sofa with a laugh, throwing his arm around her shoulders. “We need to find a picture for our engagement announcement,” she told him. He groaned in response.

“Do we really have to do that?” he whined, biting his lip against more protestations when she turned to him with a stern look.

“Mom phoned, again. If we don’t give her one to print by the end of today god only knows what she’d choose. You don’t want to face the wrath of Alice Cooper, do you?” Jughead shivered in mock horror. Everyone had been surprised by how little resistance Alice had put up against Jughead dating her daughter, but still he knew all too well what her bad side looked like and it was not a place he wanted to be.

“Wait, what’s that one?” Jughead asked, pointing to a folder on the screen labelled ‘oldies’.

“Oh, I’d totally forgotten about that!” Betty shrieked, clicking on it immediately, an array of images lighting up before them. One trait that Betty had been happy to claim from her mother was her organisational skills. She’d been putting every photo she could find into categorised folders since she could remember. “Oh, my god!” She tapped on one, enlarging it on the screen.

It was their kindergarten class photo, twenty or so chubby little faces grinning back at them. Jughead spotted Betty quickly, like he always did, standing slightly off to the left, her smile a little more subdued than some of the toothless grins of her classmates, but her face just as bright. The rosiness of her plump cheeks matched the tiny pink roses on her yellow sundress.

“I hope our daughter looks like you,” Jughead whispered before he even realised he was speaking. His eyes went wide as her head whipped sharply to face him. His face was burning as he looked down, fiddling with the hem of her sweater in embarrassment.

“Our daughter?” Betty asked in adoration, her eyes shining. He chanced a look back up at her, tension in his chest easing at the hopeful look plastered across her face. He cleared his throat, smiling timidly.

“Well, yeah. If we have a daughter, I mean,” he stuttered out lamely. He felt Betty lean further into his side.

“I hope we do,” she mumbled, turning back to face the screen, a new warmth spreading throughout Jughead’s chest. “Oh, Juggie!” she squealed, pointing to the other end of the photo. Standing there, tiny denim jacket and all, was a little Jughead Jones, crown beanie slipping down over his eyes until all that was visible was a peek of dark hair and a toothy grin.

“My mom knitted it big, said I’d grow into it,” he chuckled, looking at his younger self. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

“That you did,” Betty joked, chucking him under the chin. Jughead swatted her hand away playfully.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s move on, shall we?” He tapped the arrow, shifting along to the next picture. Betty gasped. It was her and Archie, a couple of years older than the last photo, sitting on the grass in the park they used to play in. Archie’s head was thrown back in laughter, his red hair glowing in the summer sunshine as Betty gazed adoringly on. But that wasn’t what stopped her breath. There, slightly out of shot was Jughead, fixing her with the same expression she knew she’d given the redhead countless times throughout her youth.

“I always saw you, Betty, even if you didn’t see me yet. I always knew,” Jughead leaned down to whisper against the shell of her ear. Betty turned her head once more, capturing his lips in a delicate, feather-light kiss. They pulled back, gazing into each other’s eyes as Betty felt the comforting new weight of the ring on her left hand. This was right, this had always been right.

She blinked back tears as they resumed their trip down memory lane, cute childhood memories slipping into the awkward phase of early adolescence. Betty threw her head back, laughing freely at a particularly bad shot of the both of them at someone’s birthday party. She zoomed in on Jughead’s face menacingly.

“Wow, I didn’t know you had so many chins, Juggie,” she teased, shrieking as his fingers danced against her side, relinquishing her control over the laptop. Jughead seized his opportunity, zooming in on her face instead, her expression blank but her eyelids half open and eyes rolled slightly back into her head.

“Yeah, well you never told me you were possessed in our youth, Regan,” he scoffed, holding his fiancee off as she attempted to snatch the device back.

“Wait, Juggie, stop! There’s one I want to see!” she struggled, sitting back with a huff before he finally relented, placing a sweet kiss on the side of her head. “Look, do you remember this being taken?” He turned to face the screen.

They were on the school field, high noon sun shining down on them as they lounged around in the summer heat. Betty was leaning back on her elbows, face turned up into the light slightly, rays catching the highlights in her golden hair causing her to emit a subtle glow. Jughead was lying next to her, propped up on his elbow, looking down at Betty with pure and open adoration in his blue eyes. The angle of the light was captured perfectly, shrouding them in a spotlight against the green of the grass. Jughead looked down, catching a glimpse of the way their hands, barely noticeable behind Betty’s hip, were locked with one another by their pinkies only.

“This one,” she said, her voice getting stuck in her throat slightly. Jughead nodded, tightening his grip on her.

“Definitely.”

#bughead #bughead fanfiction #betty cooper #jughead jones #betty x jughead #riverdale #riverdale fanfiction #bughead prompts #jetty #writing #believe-that-you-can-my-friend

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