ialwayscomewhenyoucall
always, when you need it the most, there is a Song
Stacy. Team Free Will. Whovian. Vampire Slayer. Ravenclaw. Fic writer. Poet. Unabashed Hawkeye Fangirl––both Hawkeyes. This year I am the Ultimate Answer.
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Get to Know You
Thanks for the tag, @vexbatch !!
Last song: Misguided Ghosts by Paramore, I’ve been listening to Paramore a lot the past couple days
Favorite color: purple!! 💜💜💜
Currently watching: Criminal Minds on my own, Doctor Who with my daughter. We’re trying to get through the whole (new who) series before the new one starts; we’re starting Flux tonight so I have confidence we’ll make it!
Sweet/savory/spicy: um. You’re talking to someone who loves to bake and cook…I love all the flavors!! (If forced to choose I’d probably go with savory, but it would be very close)
Relationship status: married (22 years next month!!)
Current obsession: poetry! It’s poetry month, so I’m swimming in it. Also Good Omens; I keep coming up with new ideas for fic/poems and I can’t keep up!!
Last thing you searched: “Will there be a wild robot 4?” …I’ve been reading the books with the four year old I care for, and she asked if we were really on the last one
Tag friends: hey, no pressure y’all. 💜 @rauchendesgnu @wanderingcas @crochet-by-jae @dragonpressgraphics @diamondwinters
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buckets of time (spilled on the pavement)
i.
Crowley waited.
Day after day
he haunted
the bookshop,
the record store,
the coffee shop.
When it was
too much
he went to the park
and fed the ducks.
He didn’t have a job
to focus on,
didn’t have his
flat,
didn’t have
anything
but an empty place
deep inside.
(and a dozen or so
houseplants)
An empty place,
and buckets of
time
to wonder
what
went
wrong.
…so Crowley waited.
ii.
I’m sorry.
Oh Crowley I’m so
sorry.
Tears welled
in Aziraphale’s eyes,
and all at once
Crowley
didn’t want
the apology.
The explanation.
The grief.
He just wanted to see
Aziraphale
smile.
I kept an eye on the bookshop.
Muriel’s done
a decent j—
And then Aziraphale’s lips—
feather-soft
warm
tasting faintly of
berries
and cream—
were on his
and nothing
else
mattered.
Still…
he could poke
a little.
(he was still a demon)
I’m not one of your
rare
books,
angel.
Kiss me
like you mean it.
The mischievous
glint
in Aziraphale’s eyes
said Challenge accepted.
NaPoWriMo day 22.2 - ineffable husbands, "I'm not a delicate flower, kiss me like you mean it"
For @vexbatch
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Kiss, Please..
He woke
to the smell of grass
and flowering trees
and sunlight
on his face.
Jask?
Geralt struggled to sit up
but strong hands
held him down.
Was that Jaskier?
Was Jaskier
strong enough
to hold him
down?
He must have been hit
hard.
A soft
relieved
sigh.
Jaskier.
(Geralt knew
his sighs)
Stay down
please.
Whatever you were
fighting—
Alghoul.
Geralt winced
at the pain
in his head.
—knocked you
a good one
and you lost
a lot of blood.
I tried
to get you to swallow some…
Swallow...
but you wouldn’t take anything
while you were unconscious.
Not even water.
You up for it now?
Geralt nodded,
groaned.
He hurt.
Easy now
darling.
Jaskier tipped the potion
into Geralt’s mouth.
It tasted foul
but he could feel
the effects
almost
immediately.
Kiss.
Even low speech
hurt;
his throat
felt like he’d been swallowing
rocks
instead of
potions.
(had he been screaming?)
Kiss?
Jaskier’s voice
was an octive
higher
than usual.
The potion.
Geralt fought
to keep from smiling.
Jaskier searched
the saddlebag
for the Kiss.
Right.
The potion.
Kiss.
Of course.
You Witchers
and your sense of
humour…
The Kiss
was almost
as bad
as the Swallow
but he felt it working,
surging through his veins.
A little stronger
he caught
Jaskier
by the hand.
Widened his eyes
the smallest bit.
(Jaskier would notice)
Now the
other
kiss,
bard.
He felt better
already.
NaPoWriMo day 22.1 - geralt/jaskier, kiss
#lirael writes#napowrimo 2024#geralt x jaskier#witcher potions#(and a bad joke)#fandom poetry#injured geralt#fluff
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Prelude
For a full minute
they just
look
at each other.
Izzy takes
a slow, deep breath
trying to steady
his rapidly beating
heart.
His eyes
flick
between Stede
and Ed
but beyond that he doesn’t
move.
None of them do.
Of course it’s
Stede
who breaks the silence.
Well.
One of us needs to
say
something.
An amused
barking laugh
from Ed.
A wink.
I didn’t think
the three of us
came in here
for talking, mate.
Stede’s face pinks.
I just meant
we can be civiliz—mmph!
His words are
muffled
by Izzy’s mouth
on his.
Ed chuckles.
Well done, Iz.
Izzy looks away,
scowling.
Someone had to
fucking do
something.
A hand
settles on his cheek—
Stede’s,
he recognizes
the soft skin—
turns his face
until he’s looking into
big, sweet eyes.
You can kiss me
anytime,
Israel.
NaPoWriMo day 20.2 - “someone had to do something”
For @vexbatch
Although it can be read on its own, this is part 18 of Trust, a sometimes poetry, sometimes prose series I’ve been writing for about a year now. 💜 (it starts with established stede/ed and new stede/izzy and slowly moves towards stede/ed/izzy)
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Lost
i.
Everything feels
unsteady
even my TARDIS
trembles
ever so slightly.
Who am I?
I don’t know
anymore.
I don’t know
how long
I’ve lived
or where I came from.
I don’t know
how many lives
how many faces.
Ryan says
I’m the Doctor.
Same as always.
But I don’t
know
what that means
anymore.
How can I help
others
when I can’t
help
myself?
ii.
I know
what you’re thinking.
Yaz is calm as ever
her hand
warm
on mine.
You’re thinking
this new
truth
changes
everything.
I hold her gaze.
But you’re
wrong.
You’re still
you.
Explorer.
Adventurer.
Friend.
Doctor.
Her smile
is achingly
soft.
Painfully
kind.
You’re still
the best person
I’ve ever known.
And I’ll bet on
you
every
time.
NaPoWriMo day 20.1 - who am I?
#lirael writes#napowrimo 2024#doctor who#thirteen x yaz#introspection#fandom poetry#post timeless children
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Writing the Future
Angel,
After we saved the world…
do you remember?
You said…
you said we’d
always
have each other.
That standing up
to Heaven
and Hell
bound us together,
that some stories can’t be
unravelled.
I believed you, Angel.
I still do.
Even when
I didn’t come around
(that wasn’t about
you.
I’m a demon,
and demons shouldn’t feel
love.
It hurts)
…even then
I knew you were
mine.
I knew
I was
yours.
We will be together
someday.
I’m writing the future,
leaving it here in the bookshop
for you to find.
(maybe writing it down
will make it
true)
Angel.
Aziraphale.
I miss you.
(Do you know how
difficult
it was to write those words?
My first three pens
melted)
I hope you have
a plan,
that you’re coming
home
(home to me)
someday.
We’re
(mostly)
immortal.
I can wait.
Come home,
my angel.
I’ll make tea.
Yours,
Crowley
NaPoWriMo day 19 - "I'm writing the future, I'm leaving a key here" (from Future by Paramore)
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More than a Revolution
I’m falling
in love with you
Draco.
Draco jerks back
hands balled into fists.
Love?
Can this actually be—
His head is too full
thoughts
ricocheting
around until the noise
deafens.
How can you—
He doesn’t know
how to finish.
What are we even
doing?
His father will
eviscerate him
if he ever finds out.
He won’t ask questions.
He moves to clutch
at the Mark on his forearm
but stops his hand
before it completes its journey.
It’s not a secret—
not from Neville—
but better not to draw
attention.
This is such a terrible
idea.
He’s been saying it for
months
since the beginning
but the words never phase
Neville.
We’re teenagers
Draco.
We’re supposed to
make stupid
decisions.
So you think this is—
Lips—
soft
warm
far too gentle—
stop Draco’s words.
It’s your inner turmoil
I’m talking to.
Neville presses
a smile
into Draco’s neck.
It’s not stupid.
Ill-advised
maybe
but not
stupid.
Draco mutters something
he heard once
about whispers in the dark and
revolutions
but Neville stops
his words
by nipping
playfully
at his throat.
I don’t want a revolution.
Neville’s breath is hot
in Draco’s ear.
One is enough.
I just want
you.
NaPoWriMo day 18 - draco/neville and "whispered words start revolutions" (from Glory by Friday Pilots Club) for @vexbatch
#lirael writes#napowrimo 2024#draco x neville#fandom poetry#secret relationship#hogwarts seventh year
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Tell Me
all Rose can see
is her Doctor’s eyes
bright
shining
full of desire
but he stops
their lips almost—
almost—
touching
please Doctor
her mouth moves
without direction
first speaking
then seeking his
but he pulls back
infinitesimally
she bites her lip
afraid to break
the spell
that holds them
tell me
Rose
tell me you
want me
there is anguish
in his voice
from the first
from the very first
he tastes like
forever
NaPoWriMo day 17 - ten/rose, tell me you want me
(prompt from @vexbatch in 2023!)
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River / the Doctor / Missy: what’s up guys, i’m back
literally everyone else: what the- you can’t be here, you’re dead. i literally saw you die
River / the Doctor / Missy: death is a social construct
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Retirement
Sometimes Aziraphale forgets
about the apocalypse that wasn’t
about angry demons
and self-righteous angels.
He forgets about the Arrangement
and secret meetings
and the deep,
hidden
fear
of
rejection.
…because here,
right now,
every day
is a new kind of
perfect.
Crowley leans out
the open window
to catch Aziraphale’s eye.
Tea’s on, angel.
There’s even a few biscuits
left in the tin.
Aziraphale smiles,
radiant,
and a warm glow
fills
his heart.
Perfect!
He claps
his hands together
twice
then makes his way
through the garden
to their cottage’s
blue door,
looking for tea
and biscuits
and his
love.
NaPoWriMo day 14.2 - ineffable husbands
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Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow
yesterday
—Tell me why we do this.
Why we’re here.
Why are my hands
stained
with the blood of boys?
Please, Beej.
Tell me.
—I don’t know, Hawk.
Frank could spout nonsense.
Margaret could point at the flag.
Me…
I just hold on to the good,
the beautiful,
to remind me there’s more
than this.
If I don’t
I’ll go mad.
—But
there’s nothing
good
here.
Nothing pure.
Nothing
beautiful.
—There’s you,
you gorgeous lunatic.
There’s us.
—Kiss me when you say that.
Please?
—Alright.
today
BJ and Peg
exchange a look.
Hawkeye looks so
lost.
Worried.
For the briefest moment
they think he’s going to bolt,
but BJ’s fingertips
brushing the back of his hand
ground him.
Muscles relax—
only the slightest bit
but it’s enough
to reassure.
Peg makes dinner.
BJ sets the table,
uncorks a bottle of wine.
Hawkeye plays with Erin.
And later,
after they tuck
Erin into bed,
the Hunnicutts
show Hawkeye
he is
loved.
tomorrow
Hawkeye can see it all…
Waking up on Sunday mornings,
tangled up in blankets
and pillows
and arms
and legs.
Coffee in the kitchen,
Peg’s laugh,
BJ’s smile.
Little Erin running though
on her unsteady legs,
shrieking with laughter.
Driving to work with BJ,
the kind of doctoring
he longs for,
where instruments are sterile
and no one runs out of sutures…
and the patients
aren’t all boys
who don’t belong in a war.
Fires on the beach,
a sky full of stars,
the clean smell of salt.
Laughing, splashing children.
(more than just Erin?)
Yes, to all of it.
California, here I come.
NaPoWriMo day 15 - hawkeye/bj/peg - showing hawkeye he can be loved/making him feel like he belongs somewhere for @pherryt
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the way(s) we show love
i. Spock
They step into sickbay
together,
Spock carrying
most of Jim’s weight.
At Leonard’s look—
combined concern
and annoyance,
for this happens far
too often—
Spock says,
a touch of humor
in his even tone,
It is his ankle
this time.
Dammit, Jim.
It’s under his breath,
but Spock and Jim
still hear.
Spock feels Jim’s
embarrassment
through their bond:
amused
and sheepish
but not at all
sorry.
Leonard and Spock send
love and reassurance
in return.
ii. Jim
Bones says,
Get him in here,
and Jim lets
Spock lead
him to a bed.
The tricorder hums softly,
Bones gives Jim a stern look.
Broken.
In two places.
You’re staying here tonight.
Jim tries a charming smile.
You can take care of me
in our quarters
just as well as here
…but he knows
it’s no use.
Hardly.
Bones confirms Jim’s thought.
Here I can do more
than threaten
to restrain you
if you try to wander.
Here
I can follow through.
The charming smile again.
You know I don’t mind
restraints
in our quarters.
A hand falls on his shoulder.
Spock.
All at once Jim
gives in,
too sore
and tired
to argue.
iii. Leonard
He tries to shoo spock
to bed,
but he insists
on staying.
How did he
get into this
situation,
loving two
stubborn
men?
It’s not long before
his replacement arrives,
and Leonard sends her away.
He won’t sleep
with Spock and Jim
both here,
might as well give
another doctor
the night off.
Spock shoots him
a disapproving
look.
Frequent rest breaks,
Leonard.
Hydration and nourishment.
Don’t neglect
yourself
while caring for Jim.
Leonard drapes a blanket
over Jim’s almost-sleeping form,
gives Spock a cup of tea.
You rest too,
he tells Spock,
brushing two fingers
against his hand
in a secret kiss.
NaPoWriMo day 14.1 - bones/spock/kirk, a night in sickbay for @crochet-by-jae
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Askew
There’s something off about Joel.
Ellie knows
he’s keeping a secret
hiding a truth.
She can see it in his eyes
hear it in the
s p a c e s
around his words.
Sarah is there
and sadness
and loss
mixed up
with Ellie
in his tangled thoughts.
But he’s
become
her father
(she lets herself
think
the word
even if she’ll
never
say it aloud)
or what she thinks
a father
could be
(she’s got no practical
experience)
so she fakes
a smile
so he won’t see
the doubts
crowding her edges.
They’ll be okay now.
Looking out
for each other
it’s what they do.
NaPoWriMo day 13.2 - Ellie & Joel and “I fake a smile so he won’t see” (from teardrops on my guitar by Taylor Swift)
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I had a dream that the king and the queen of a small country had a daughter. They needed a son, a first-born son, so in secret, without telling anyone of their child’s gender, they travelled to the nearby woods that were rumoured to house a witch.
They made a deal with that witch. They wanted a son, and they got one. A son, one made out of clay and wood, flexible enough to grow but sturdy enough to withstand its destined path, enchanted to look like a human child. The witch asked for only one thing, and that was for their daughter.
They left the girl readily.
The witch raised her as her own, and called her Thyme. The princess grew up unknowing of her heritage, grew up calling the witch Mama, and the witch did her very best to earn that title.
She was taught magic, and how to forage in the woods, how to build sturdy wooden structures and how to make the most delicious stews. The girl had a good life, and the witch was pleased.
The girl grew into a woman, and learned more and more powerful magics, grew stronger from hauling wood and stones and animals to cook, grew smarter as the witch taught her more.
She learned to deal with the people in the villages nearby, learned how to brew remedies and medicines and how to treat illness and injury, and learned how to tell when someone was lying.
Every time the pair went into town, the people would remark at just how similar Thyme was to her mother.
(Thyme does not know who and what she is. She does not know that she was born a princess, that she was sold. She only knows that one night after her mother read her a story about princesses and dragons, her mother had asked her if she ever wanted to be a princess.)
((Thyme only knows that she very quickly answered no. She likes being a witch, thank you very much, she likes the power that comes with it and the way that she can look at things and know their true nature.))
The witch starts preparing the ritual early, starts collecting the necessities in the winter so they can be ready by the fall equinox. Her daughter helps, and does not ask what this is for, just knows that it is important.
The witch looks at Thyme, both their hands raised into the air over a complicated array of plants, tended carefully to grow into a circle, and says, sorry.
Keep reading
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nothing weighs more than emptiness
Lyra drops
scraps of paper
(scribbled memories)
into the river
one
by
one.
They float along
bobbing and swirling
never still
A goose
snaps
but spits out
the offending scrap.
Lyra laughs
(only a bit forced)
Do you see
Will?
You’re here
in my Oxford
Bits of you
lingering
all over
She wipes a tear from her cheek
hopes Pan doesn’t see
There’s been a
rift
between them
for so long
she wonders if
anything
can bridge it
Will and Kirjava could do it
Pan says knowingly.
A happy ache
stabs her chest
at having Pan in her mind
again
(even for a moment)
You think of them too
(it’s not a question)
Pan can’t look in her eyes
but he answers
soft
There’s an empty place
inside
No one else
can fill it
(they don’t need to say)
NaPoWriMo day 13.1 - Lyra and memories
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The Man (Who Might Be Evil)
The man is here again.
He’s been here for days
pacing from room to room
muttering about
the Institute
and tape recorders
and statements.
(whatever those things are)
Sometimes he cries.
Sometimes he stares at the walls.
Sometimes he talks into a thing that
clicks and whirrs.
I like the man.
He gives good scratches.
My human is worried about him.
I can smell it on her.
She yells sometimes
but she doesn’t smell angry.
She smells…
protective.
Jon.
You have to stop.
All these statements
that tape recorder.
You’re serving an—
an evil diety of watching!
Every time you click that thing
you’re giving it what it wants.
And look what it’s done to you!
You’re hiding out
with your ex-girlfriend.
The man looks sad.
Do you want me
to go?
I make a sad sound.
I don’t want the man to go.
He gives good scratches
and he never rubs my belly.
(I do not like that…
but sometimes it’s fun
to nip at the hand that tries)
My human makes a sad sound too.
No Jon.
I don’t want you to go.
Just put that thing away.
I rub against my human’s leg
and purr.
I don’t care that the man serves
an evil something-or-other.
I like him anyway.
NaPoWriMo day 10 - the admiral, “he might be serving an evil deity of Watching, but he gives good scratches, so who cares?” for @rauchendesgnu
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Anna Torv, my beloved.
What does it say about me that I still think she’s ridiculously hot even all beat up in The Last of Us??
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