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regenderate-fic · 2 years

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All the Quiet Nights You Bear: Chapter 25

Fandom: Doctor Who Rating: General Ship: Thirteenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan, Yasmin Khan/Rose Tyler, Thirteenth Doctor/Rose Tyler/Yasmin Khan, Past Metacrisis Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Characters: Thirteenth Doctor, Yasmin Khan, Rose Tyler, Najia Khan, Hakim Khan, Sonya Khan, Dan Lewis, Jack Harkness, Ryan Sinclair Series: And We’re Not Out of the Tunnel Word Count (Chapter): 2,904 Other Tags: Fluff and Angst, Angst, Emotional, Disabled Character, Chronic Illness, Bad Wolf Rose, COVID-19, Self-Quarantine, Domestic, Autistic Characters, Polyamory, OT3, Slow Burn, Disability Read on AO3 / Read in order

Summary: Rose Tyler-Noble jumps out of her parallel universe, leaving her husband and family behind in the hopes that being back in the right universe will improve her well-being.

Yasmin Khan is out for lunch with the Doctor when she sees a blonde woman sitting on the sidewalk, crying.

The Doctor, Yaz, and Rose travel back to Sheffield to see Yaz’s family, but they have to leave the TARDIS so it can reset, and when they come back, it’s gone. The police have confiscated it, and they want to see proof of ownership before they give it back. And the Doctor left her psychic paper on board. And they’ve landed in March of 2020, just before everything shuts down.

Stranded in Sheffield, they have no choice but to get a flat and quarantine together. Which, when you have three emotionally volatile people who care for each other more than they’re willing to admit, can be complicated.

(Sequel to And Still I Will Live Here, but hopefully readable out of context. Updating on Saturdays and Wednesdays.)

Yaz is back on Gallifrey, back in the room where she found the Doctor before, collapsed on the ground. She looks around. For half a second, she expects to see the Mouri— but no, that was a different, albeit similar, room. This one— well, Yaz doesn’t know what this one is.

The Citadel. It’s the Doctor’s voice, inside her mind. On Gallifrey.

Yaz looks to her right and sees Rose, her eyes wide. Without even thinking about it, she takes Rose’s hand. Somehow, even in this telepathic dreamscape, it’s warm.

There’s the sound of talking to their right, and the Doctor and the Master stumble in, arguing. The Doctor— asking why, why would he destroy Gallifrey, why would he give it up— and the Master— talking about the place, the history, the Time Lords. The truth.

Glowing white rings spring up around the Doctor. She’s suspended in them, her body vertical but limp, her head lolling to the side. The Master continues his monologue, but all Yaz can focus on is the Doctor. She looks— more helpless than Yaz has ever seen her, really. A hopeless and sorrowful love wells up in her.

And then the scene shifts— or no, dissolves— and there’s a spike of pain in her mind, one that goes away as quickly as it comes.

Sorry, the Doctor’s voice in the back of her mind tells her. Trying to compartmentalize a little. Don’t want to hurt you.

“It’s okay,” Yaz says out loud. Rose squeezes her hand. They’re in a total blankness now, an uncharted space. The Doctor is standing in what might as well be the middle of it, the Master’s voice surrounding her. Are you suffering comfortably?

Images start to flash as the Master launches into a fairy tale, only Yaz realizes too late that it’s not a fairy tale. It’s an origin myth. No, not a myth.

It’s the Doctor.

The child— found, raised, regenerating.

Abused. Exploited.

Lost.

It sinks in, heavy in Yaz’s chest: this is the Doctor’s secret. Her most closely guarded self. This is what she’s been hiding, and what she’s been chasing after.

She watches as the Doctor unravels, screaming at the Master. Why would they lie? The words rip into Yaz, cut into her, and she yearns to reach out, hold the Doctor, help her.

But the Doctor is alone. So much more alone than Yaz thought possible, suspended in the ether. Her eyes are red, her jaw set, and still the Master continues to torment her. He shows her one last scene— the child, older, different, being recruited into Division. The word crashes into Yaz’s mind, settling in with all the times the Doctor’s mentioned it, talked about needing to find Division, looking for Division. As the scene fades, Yaz finally, finally, understands why.

There’s no record of it. No record of the Doctor’s time there, what she did, what she didn’t do. And— the Doctor doesn’t remember it.

The scene fades into a cold gray room. The Doctor, curled up on a slab in the center, her eyes wide open, staring at the wall. The room is covered in tally marks.

The scene fades again, this time into a space that looks suspiciously like a TARDIS console room, although some instinct— or maybe just the Doctor’s subconscious, rubbing up against Yaz’s— tells Yaz that it isn’t. There’s a tree in the center, spreading pink foliage above the space, wires feeding into it. It’s incongruous with the rest of the space, which is mostly a gunmetal gray. And then there’s the Doctor, and an alien creature Yaz doesn’t recognize, with a wrinkled bald head and many tentacles in place of a mouth.

“Ood,” Rose murmurs.

An old woman sweeps into the room, her affect motherly, even warm. Or— it would be warm, if Yaz didn’t know, somewhere deep in her heart, with cold certainty, who this woman was.

The Doctor’s voice confirms it. Tecteun .

She has a lot to say to the Doctor. She explains Division. She explains the Flux— which is new information, for Yaz. But— when Tecteun tells the Doctor that the Flux was made to stop her, that Tecteun was willing to destroy the entire universe just to keep the Doctor under her control, Yaz understands why the Doctor never told her. There’s so much tied up in all this— the Doctor’s past, her quest for it. Yaz wishes she knew sooner, but— it’s so immense. She understands, suddenly, why the Doctor didn’t tell her.

The Doctor argues with Tecteun, yells at her. It’s pure, raw emotion, tearing, cutting, stopped by nothing. And Tecteun stays maddeningly calm throughout. It’s painful, twisting in Yaz’s gut.

And then Tecteun says it.

They're your experiments, just as you were mine.

Tecteun means her , Yaz realizes with a jolt. According to Tecteun, she is one of the Doctor’s experiments. Yaz’s mind races. Could that be true? She chose to come along. She chooses it every time she enters the TARDIS. She’s had plenty of chances to leave. Trips to see her family. Trips to visit Ryan and Graham. She could’ve left anytime.

And— it’s not an experiment, is it, to have friends? Maybe it could be, Yaz thinks. But only to someone whose idea of connection is so twisted, so warped, that they’re incapable of thinking about other people as anything else.

The Doctor isn’t perfect. There have been points, if Yaz is being honest with herself, where the Doctor’s treated her unfairly, even badly. But still, Yaz has seen nothing in the Doctor that makes her think the Doctor sees her as anything other than a human being.

The scene jumps, and Yaz snaps back to attention. They’ve moved forward in the narrative, just a little, to the Doctor staring at a glass-encased pocketwatch. Tecteun comes up behind her, with the same insidious calm. Slowly, Yaz realizes: this watch, somehow, holds the Doctor’s memories.

And then Tecteun comes apart.

There’s one more scene. It’s back in the TARDIS. Yaz knows this one: the Doctor is standing alone, but Yaz is eighty percent sure she herself has just left, off to show Dan the bedrooms. The Doctor, on her own, has let her guard down: there’s a single tear making its way down her face. She pulls the watch out of her pocket. Dangles it over a hole in the console. Asks the TARDIS to keep it safe. Not give it to her unless she really, really asks.

And then the console shifts, imperceptibly but undeniably. It’s the lighting, maybe, or the ambient sounds, or the way the Doctor has straightened up and is now looking directly at Yaz and Rose.

They’re out of the memory. Now they’re just in her head.

The Doctor’s dream-self’s breath hitches, and for a moment Yaz thinks she’s about to speak. But she doesn’t. Instead, for just a moment, an invisible barrier lifts, and suddenly Yaz is feeling everything: anger, pain, sorrow, hurt, but over the top of it all, love. A greater love than Yaz knew was possible. Love for Rose— and love for Yaz.

Yaz never realized, before this moment, how much she really, truly believed she would never be loved. And further, how much she really, truly believed the Doctor couldn’t possibly return her feelings. But it’s the opposite: the Doctor magnifies her feelings, enhances them, experiences them far over the top of what Yaz could possibly imagine. Yaz feels it welling up in her chest, escaping in her breath, everything she feels and everything the Doctor feels all at once.

And then it’s over. The feelings dissipate, the Doctor’s hand drops from Yaz’s cheek, and Yaz opens her eyes back in the flat to see the Doctor sitting steadfast, tears filling her eyes, rolling down her face.

“That’s it,” she says, her voice breaking. “Everything I haven’t told you. I think.”

Yaz doesn’t really know what to say. Faced with the full enormity of— well, everything— she’s at a loss.

“I understand,” the Doctor says. “If you don’t want to be around me anymore.”

“What?” Yaz and Rose ask together.

“Why would we want that?” Yaz asks.

“Well, you know,” the Doctor says, looking down. “It’s like she said, right? Tecteun. I’m just taking advantage of you, aren’t I? My experiments?” She says the word bitterly.

“No,” Yaz says, emphatic. “Doctor, you—“ She cuts off. She’s still at a loss.

Fortunately, Rose always knows what to say.

“I don’t like the implication that I haven’t got free will,” she says. “You asked me, back when we started traveling together, whether I wanted to come, and I ran to the TARDIS.”

“Only after I came back and told you about the time travel,” the Doctor murmurs. “I manipulated you.”

Rose shakes her head. “I wanted to go with you from the start. Anyway, even if you had manipulated me, which you really, really didn’t, we stopped back at my mum’s all the time. I could’ve stayed behind whenever. C’mon, Doctor. I might’ve been young and stupid, back then, but I still made my own choices. And I don’t regret them.”

“Rose.” The Doctor’s voice is forceful. “Your whole body changed. Because of me. You’re different, forever, because you traveled with me. How is that not my fault? How does that make you not my experiment?”

“First of all,” Rose says, “I chose to look into the heart of the TARDIS. You literally told me not to! You told me to let the TARDIS die out on a street corner, become some random old box, and I didn’t listen. That’s on me. And I’m glad I did it, because otherwise you’d be dead, and so would Jack.” She takes a deep breath, her voice quiet as she reaches out, her hand ghosting over the Doctor’s arm. “Don’t you remember, Doctor? It was going to overwhelm me. You took it out of me. You regenerated, just to save my life. You made it better. Not worse.”

The Doctor is silent at that.

“Anyway,” Rose says, glancing at Yaz, “as much as I’d love to keep arguing about how much of a horrible manipulator you aren’t , I think you and Yaz have a lot to talk about.” She taps the Doctor’s arm twice. “I’ll be in the living room.” And before Yaz can say anything, Rose is off the bed and picking her way across the floor to the door.

And then Yaz and the Doctor are alone. They stare at each other. The Doctor’s expression, finally, is open, full of emotion.

“You did the same thing for me,” Yaz says. “With the Mouri. You let all of time run through you, just to get us out of there. We would’ve died, if you hadn’t.”

“Can’t have a universe with no Yaz,” the Doctor says softly.

“Exactly,” Yaz says. “Doctor, I know you care about us. I saw it, just now, inside your head. Can’t argue with that.” She takes a deep breath. “There have been moments where I didn’t feel like you respected me. Or I didn’t feel like you wanted me around. Or I didn’t think you liked me like I liked you.” She pauses. “But Doctor, I’ve never felt like an experiment, or like you didn’t think of me as my own person. You were just hurting. Lots of people hurt. Doesn’t make them bad.” With a shrug, she adds, “I don’t want to feel disrespected or unwanted. But I don’t think you want me to feel that way, either.”

“I don’t,” the Doctor breathes. “Yaz, I’m so sorry. I should’ve— I should’ve told you.”

“You told me now,” Yaz says. “And Doctor, you should have told me earlier, but I really do understand why you didn’t. It’s—“ She takes a deep breath. “It’s a lot.”

The Doctor nods.

“If I’d known this is what you were going through—“ Yaz shakes her head. “I don’t know. I would’ve tried to help. Doctor, it’s okay to ask for help.”

“I couldn’t,” the Doctor says. “I just—“ She waves her arms helplessly. On instinct, Yaz catches the Doctor’s hands, holding them gently in her own.

“I know,” she says. “Doctor. You’ve been through so much more than anyone should ever go through. You’ve been conditioned to think people won’t stay with you, or people won’t love you, or whatever else it is.” Yaz takes a deep breath. This is the moment of truth, the moment she jumps off her highest cliff yet and hopes she lands in safe, warm waters. “But Doctor, I do love you. And I love you even more now I know what you’ve been through, and now I know that you’ve come out of it still trying to be kind. You deserve love, Doctor.” She takes another breath. “And you’ve got it from me. If you want it.”

The Doctor just stares at her, stunned. Yaz is freefalling. She’s afraid, for a moment, that she’s gone too far, but then she remembers what she felt in the Doctor’s mind, all that love, and her fear dissolves.

“But—“ the Doctor begins.

Yaz doesn’t let her finish. She has so much she wants to express, and in the absence of telepathy, there’s only one way she can think to do that. So before the Doctor can continue, she leans forward, nerves and boldness and love and security mixing in her stomach, and she cups the Doctor’s neck in one hand, ignoring the Doctor’s speech fizzling out, and she crashes her mouth against the Doctor’s, hoping something in her breath, her lips, her body can tell the Doctor what her words can’t.

For a moment, the Doctor doesn’t react, and Yaz is worried she’s misread things, misread the Doctor’s feelings, misread the Doctor’s tolerance for unexpected touch. Her fear spikes: what if, after all this, she ruins her relationship with the Doctor anyway?

And then the Doctor’s hand lands on Yaz’s waist, and there’s pressure against Yaz’s lips, and a tension Yaz didn’t even know she was holding, didn’t know she’d been holding for the past seven years, suddenly releases. She pulls the Doctor closer, her hand tangling in blonde hair. It’s very different from kissing Rose: with Rose, it was comfort, something shared between the two of them. Romantic, but in a steady, familiar sense, the sort of thing that felt inevitable. With the Doctor, it’s a crescendo, a culmination of everything in Yaz’s very being. It’s something she’s wanted for years, whether she knew it or not, and it’s something she never thought she’d be brave enough to ask for.

(She does, on the other hand, make up her mind to buy both Rose and the Doctor some good chapstick. She thinks it could go a long way. Especially if the three of them are going to do much more of this.)

And then she pulls away, just a little, her face still inches from the Doctor’s. The Doctor’s eyes are closed, still, her lips barely parted. When she opens her eyes, she’s looking at Yaz with a heartbreaking mix of love and fear and sadness. Yaz recognizes it: she feels the same.

“And you’re sure you want this?” the Doctor asks. “I mean— me?”

Yaz can’t help it. She laughs.

“I am so far beyond sure, it’s not even funny,” she says. “Seriously, Doctor. You have to ask?”

But the Doctor does. Yaz can see it in her eyes, all the doubt. Yaz always sort of thought the Doctor had it all together— she was thousands of years old, after all, and knew just about everything worth knowing, and surely, somewhere in there, she had gotten rid of any passing insecurities. But now, having seen inside the Doctor’s mind, Yaz understands. The years have only added to the Doctor’s insecurities, not healed them. And now the Doctor’s been sitting on raw, unprocessed trauma, convinced she couldn’t tell anyone for the risk of losing them.

“I want this,” she says firmly.

The Doctor nods. She still doesn’t look fully convinced, but Yaz figures it’ll come in time. She brushes her hand over the Doctor’s cheek, wiping at her tears. And then she presses her lips to the Doctor’s one more time for good measure.

“I want this,” she says, pulling away. And then her own flicker of doubt resurfaces. “I mean— if you do.”

“Yasmin Khan,” the Doctor breathes, her eyes shining, her hand still resting on Yaz’s waist. “You’re brilliant.”

Yaz grins, exhilarated. “You’re not so bad yourself.” She pulls the Doctor into a hug, a fierce, real hug, crushing their bodies together. Her voice muffled by the Doctor’s hoodie, she adds, “Thank you for showing us what happened.”

“I’m glad I did, it turns out,” the Doctor admits.

“Knew you would be.” Yaz pulls back, her hands still resting loosely on the Doctor’s back, the Doctor’s hands still on her. She grins, a rush of affection running through her. “All right, then. When’s the last time you had a proper meal? Chicken nuggets don’t count.”

“Yesterday,” the Doctor mumbles, looking away. It’s got to be around midday now: that’s at least eighteen hours.

“All right.” Yaz slides off the bed, holding her hand out for the Doctor. “Let’s get you some real food.”

The Doctor takes her hand.

“If you insist,” she says.

Yaz smiles. “I do, actually.” She opens the door and pulls the Doctor through.

#doctor who #my fic #fanfiction #all the quiet nights you bear #and we're not out of the tunnel #thirteenth doctor #rose tyler #yasmin khan #thirteenrose #thirteen x rose #doctorrose #thasmin #thirteen x yaz #yaz x rose #thirteen x yaz x rose

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halebaccari · 4 years

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multiamory may 30/? --> allison/cora/lydia

#multimay20 #twpolyamory #twrarepair #multiamory may #corallydia #allison x cora x lydia #ot3: give sorrow words #femslash #picspam #no thoughts head empty i just spent a lot of time outdoors today (for me) so have this #nature sapphics lol

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silviakundera · 2 years

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Story of Yanxi Palace rewatch notes, ep 39-40

The cruel death of my perfect ot3 😭😭😭😭 truly too beautiful to be allowed to exist 😭😭

We get so many tender Yingluo and Empress moments, and everything seems so hopeful, then blam! blam! blam!

The grieving Empress still clutching her baby and with Yingluo gone it is the Emperor who has to do what no one can and reach her, let her rage and try to rest her back to the living world. Magnificant scene, as she finally lets loose at him, all of her greviances she's been holding inside. They do love each other, so much, but the imperial family politics don't care about true attachments and affection.

Really like the scenes where the Emperor has to supress his personal desires, his own despair, to govern and be a responsible monarch. The show consistently shows how bad at relationships he is, and how biased and reactionary he can be, but in the end he has his priorities in order when it comes to the big picture. The viewer and Yingluo will not always like him, but we reluctantly respect him.

Th Empress thinking of Yingluo in her final moments.

THAT SCENE when Yingluo returns to the palace and she and the Emperor just dig knives into each other in. I bet they barely even register the other people in the room. This is THEIR GRIEF, they are her 2 closest people, the people she kept in her heart. This is their resentment, their anguish. Their unreasoning sorrow. They both blame and hate her, a little, for leaving them like this. And in her absence they will inevitably turn this hate & blame onto each other.

It should be ludricrous that a servant and the freakin Emperor are arguing over the corpse of his wife, and he keeps responding to her -- that's the most shocking part and the most meaningful to me. He will not walk away while she hasn't had her say. You can see as he closes his eyes and takes her words in, as she brings him to tears - he wants to be blamed, he of course already blames himself. And she looks so freakin SAD as she says these things to him. Not vicious and smug, just profoundly sad that being part of the imperial family crushed the spirit of a woman that they both loved so much. And, I'd argue, profoundly sad to be saying these hurtful things to him. Like it hurts her to be hurting him like this, but she can't stop herself. Some of things she says, like accusing him of being heartless, I don't think she truly believes at all. She's striking out at him and at herself, stab stab stab. She's feeling, not thinking.

I'd argue that this is actually Yingluo being suicidal. She wants to die with the empress, as a sort of penance for leaving her unprotected. She knows the penalty for how she is behaving right now. And she wants it. She doesn't stop til she gets it. She's not rationale in this episode, she's completely emotionally overwhelmed.

With tear streaks on his face, the Emperor says, Grant her suicide and have her buried with Her Majesty. And Yingluo smiles so tenderly, so horribly. Looks so softly at the covered body, as if to say I'll be with you soon. He ignores all pleas and says he's doing this because she is the most favored. They're both like, RIGHT. RIGHT. SHE WOULDN'T HAVE WANTED THIS. TOO BAD SHE'S DEAD NOW SO SHE DOESN'T GET AN OPINION.

Such an enormous mess and still, and still!! in this scene you feel like sometimes no one in the world understands Yingluo and The Emperor as well as they understand each other.

And right now, the Emperor can't handle that. I think he ultimately sends her into palace exile not only to honor the intent of his wife's final wish, but to protect himself from that knowledge, those knowing eyes, that insightful judgment (Why didn't he actually give her FREEDOM? a. he's in repressed love w her, duh and b. he wants to punish her and himself for failing their empress and c. this is like safe, incredibly boring servant retirement)

allllso can u believe the empress left final words to the emperor all about their mutual gremlin servant gf? LMAO Not I'll love u for eternity, let's be married in the next life, but: I'm super concerned about Yingluo, palace life sucks, please take care of our girl for me xoxo

#story of yanxi palace #wei yingluo #tragic ot3 times #its the suffering hour #rewatch #i will never be over #that final letter #even he is crying and like #really we are being this petty #not a tender word for her husband #just the side piece #😂😂

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disaster-j · 2 years

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I think people are overreacting with the gram and eugene kiss, a saw a lot of people saying that "Gram/Black is over" [not with this actual words but you understand what I'm trying to say]. Since white took over black's place, the confusion with this new persona create a lot of new feelings between these three characters [gram, white as black, eugene]. The drunk confused kiss is just the explosion of these sentiments over black character, since gram and eugene, love/like him. So what do you think about this?

While I agree that people are overreacting a bit, your timeline is a bit off anon. The kiss between Gram and Eugene happens before White shows up, likely the night of the attack.

It IS an explosion of both of their messy feelings towards Black though that's for sure. For Eugene, she's hurt and confused because Black essentially told her he's on a suicide mission and that they can't be together for her own safety. Mans Edward Cullen'd her. Of course she gets all drunk and emotional trying to wrap her head around it. As for Gram, well he's probably also confused and worried for both Eugene and Black. Whatever she told him about their talk would have been news to him and he doesn't know how to cope with the fact that Black is keeping secrets from him too.

They're both in the same boat and drinking their sorrows away. I've seen some people say Gram took advantage of her and like I really don't get that. He was just as drunk as her, his judgement was severely impaired too. He was trying to comfort her and when she leaned in he kissed her without thinking. It was clear he realised it was a stupid move right away because their lips barely touch before they're breaking away from each other and he's apologising.

The way I see it, it was a drunken mistake between two very emotionally vulnerable and confused people. They both regretted it and feel guilty about it because neither of them had intended for it to happen. It was an accident. Eugene gets that and so does White. No one makes a big deal about it because everyone gets that sometimes people make mistakes when they're drunk and vulnerable like that.

I do also think that with how the situation with Eugene is unfolding it is possible that they want to give us an ot3. The more I think about that the more I don't mind it at all. I really like Show Eugene and I'm glad they're not going with the unnecessary villain that Book Yujin was. I liked her dynamic with Black and I think her and Gram have a cute relationship from the snippets we've seen. And we all know I'm the biggest GramBlack enthusiast. So if we get an ot3 I really think I'd enjoy it as long as it's well executed and doesn't feel out of place. Which, with the writing on this show seems entirely unlikely. I will need to recalibrate how I write Black in my fics though bc so far in my one-shot Eugene isn't around. (I was hoping for her and Namo T_T)

#not me the series #not me #gramblack #blackeugene #grameugene #gram x black x eugene #?#mayhaps 👁👁#not me analysis #not me ask

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sword-dad-fukuzawa · 3 years

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Nobara was awesome in the finale! But I think her technique would give Atsushi PTSD flashbacks.

LMAO OKAY YOU'RE SO RIGHT THOUGH-

The finale was so good though?? I am a Megumi simp through and through and so Megumi going feral was. Kinda awesome. Y'know. For the simp braincell. AND NOBARA BEING CRAZY. I HAVE FEELINGS ABOUT CRAZY NOBARA. SO MANY FEELS ABOUT CRAZY "yea I'm going to stab myself through the fucking arm like it ain't shit, what of it?" NOBARA. Because she was really pretty with the roses ;-;

;-; and Nobara and Yuuji showing up to help Megumi under the bridge, because they know he's dumb and is going to get his fine ass killed, because I am still mad about how badly Team Seven got fucked in Naruto so these three are my therapy.

Other than fix-it Team Seven genfics, that is.

BECAUSE THEY LIKE EACH OTHER! THEY GENUINELY LIKE EACH OTHER! AND IT'S ADORABLE AND WHOLESOME AND aaaaaaaaa WHEN THEY FIGHT TOGETHER IT'S SO GLORIOUS THAT I CAN'T EVEN PUT IT INTO WORDS HELP-

*ahem*

I also have feelings about the glorious tag-team that was Maki and Megumi from the group battles, the sheer tomfoolery of Yuuji and Toudou tag teaming, and the sadness and sorrow that Nobara didn't get that much ass-kicking time back then. BUT IT'S OKAY. BECAUSE MAKI GOT ASS-KICKING TIME. And Megumi, did I mention Megumi with a sword is aggressively awesome???? Help

,,,yes sorry for the ramble. JJK is just really good ;-; to the point where I may actually read the manga. And also, there are only 36 OT3 fics on Ao3. This is a CRIME. I am ANGRY. I am, once again and to nobody's astonishment, IN RAREPAIR HELL.

#jjk #mANY THOUGHTS #MANY FEELINGS #AAAAAAAAA #that one juju stroll didn't help my ot3 brainrot either #it's just more cursed if it's ot4 because gojo's involved #man really does do creepy older guy terrifyingly well #mEgUmi-cHaN #gojo you're basically his dad plz #plz #go back to stealing nobara's skirt #wait #that's just as bad #sigh #fcking gojo

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ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 4 years

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Geralt left on an adventure and hasn't been back in months. Jaskier is worried, to say the least. You've been dating him for a while now and always thought that he was rather close with the Witcher, but it is only now that you realize that his heart does not lie with you. Angst

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x Reader x GeraltWord Count: 921Rating: GTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent @mlleecrivaine a/n: Hey ba-non-arama, I hope you enjoy what I’ve written. I’m not a Geraskier shipper though I can get down with an OT3 so that’s the spin I did for this one. There is still Angst, and some unresolved stuff at the end of it, so I hope it still hits the mark in some areas. Thanks!

You weren’t sure who was more anxious about Geralt’s disappearance, you or Jaskier. Jaskier was more vocal about it, though you knew for all he talked and worried there was even more that he wasn’t saying. You could see it in the dulling of his usually sparkling blue eyes and the almost constant furrow of his brow, only smoothing in his sleep and even then usually interrupted by nightmares where more than once you’d heard him speak Geralt’s name. You were afraid too but you didn’t want to add to Jaskier’s troubles so you wrote about it in secret, sometimes reaching out to Yennefer to see if she’d heard anything. For all that he insisted he didn’t feel or need others, Geralt had a coterie of individuals who cared deeply for him. He’d been missing for months and you began to lose hope that he would ever return. Jaskier, however, refused to even consider it.

“He’s been through more than you could possibly imagine and come out the other side,” he insisted as you sat together in front of the hearth one evening. You worried your lip between your teeth and tried to figure out how to proceed, or even if you should.

“Jaskier… you know that I love you. And I trust you,” you began. You felt him stiffen beside you but it only convinced you that you should keep going, force out the words now that you’d gotten this far, “And you know I love Geralt. But I have wondered at times… if your love for Geralt was more akin for how you felt for me.”

Jaskier stared at the flames before you, unmoving other than the slow rise and fall of his chest. When he finally looked at you, sorrow-filled blue eyes glossy with unshed tears, you knew the truth.

“Oh,” you breathed, looking back down at your hands. He took one of them in his own as he turned towards you, gazing at you imploringly.

“Y/N, please understand this doesn’t mean that anything I feel for you is untrue or different. I still love you, am in love with you, terribly so. But… yes. My heart also belongs to Geralt. And I haven’t said anything because it felt there was never reason to speak of it. He has Yennefer, we are friends, I am content with that,” he said. You shook your head.

“No,” you argued, giving him a sad smile, “No, that can’t be true. Not really. Look at how this has affected you. Can you truly tell me that you could spend the rest of our lives together without feeling that something is missing for you, without him?”

“I don’t feel I am lacking anything, Y/N, I need you to know that. Just because I hold love for Geralt in my heart doesn’t mean that you aren’t enough for me or that I need him to be happy,” he insisted. You knew you shouldn’t feel as nervous as you were, not after Jaskier had admitted how he felt, but you still shook slightly and your voice cracked as you spoke again.

“What if… What if I wanted him too?”

You forced your eyes to his and though he looked taken aback he didn’t look hurt or betrayed as you’d feared.

“You mean… you and Geralt…”

“Nothing has happened,” you said hurriedly, “I have been loyal to you. But there have been… feelings developing for him for some time now. And… I wasn’t sure… I didn’t think it right to say anything. Because I love you with everything I have and I didn’t think it was possible to love two people at the same time, not in the same way… And it’s not in the same way, really. The same intensity but two very different kinds of love. I think maybe you don’t ever get the same love twice, but apparently you can get more than one at a time. Or at least feel it.”

You fell into silence staring at the fire, hands clutched around each other’s tight, as you considered the confessions of love you’d made for the man you feared you’d never see again.

“We have to find him,” you said suddenly, a rigid determination to your voice.

“Are you sure? If he’s been held up, whatever it is he’s facing is… very powerful,” Jaskier countered, though you could hear the eager excitement in his voice.

“We have to know. We have to bring him back, regardless,” you said, not able to summon the horrible fear you held about Geralt’s condition.

“We can ask Yennefer to join us,” Jaskier suggested, “Gather supplies and do some research.”

“He told me what he was hunting,” you offered, “That gives us a lead.”

“We’re going to find him, Y/N,” Jaskier said, a glimmer of hope in his eyes for the first time in months, “We’re going to find him and bring him home.”

“And then?” you asked.

“And then,” Jaskier replied, “We tell him the truth. And we let him decide.”

“What if he wants one of us but not the other?” you asked, thinking of how you sometimes saw the witcher smile at Jaskier, tenderly even through his exasperation, patiently even as he sighed and groused. Jaskier squeezed your hand a little tighter.

“Then he’d be a fool. And we will cross that bridge when we come to it. If we come to it,” he said. You nodded in agreement and took a deep breath.

“Alright,” you said, “Let’s go find the witcher we love.”

#Anonymous #Jaskier x Reader x Geralt #jaskier imagines #reader request

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darlingrutherford · 4 years

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Another slightly more feels-y cullanistair: When two of them are missing the third so, so badly it almost hurts. They drown in each other to distract themselves from the ache until their lover can come back to them. (Side note: even if it's not a true polyamorous relationship in that all 3 are not madly in love with all 3 of each other, I still friggin' love how special this relationship & friendship is 😍. And they love each other in their own way, so it's enough. Still my personal OT3 tho 🤣)

Oh, oh, yes 😍

I definitely do headcanon it on my end to be less of a polyamorous relationship and more of a couple-with-a-friend-with-benifits type deal, but you are absolutely able to ship them more that way ;) There's always room for one more AU, right? 😂❤️ and, since you mentioned it, just thinking along those lines for fun...

Lana loves very deeply, and she would absolutely ache for whoever happens to be missing. She gives a part of her heart to whomever she loves, and it would feel like she's missing a third of it when Cullen is off doing Inquisition things, or else when Alistair has to go off for other reasons (let's face it, usually Inquisition-y things as well). She's a bit more clingy when one of them is gone, she sits a bit closer to whichever one is still there, needs a bit of reassurance that she hasn't been left behind (deep down she knows, but there's always a darker part of her that wonders and waits for it to happen). If that reassurance comes in the form of Cullen or Alistair showing how much they don't want to leave the bed she's in... Well, that's usually fairly effective.

Alistair gets mopey when one of them is away. He has trouble focusing. He'll spend way too long contemplating his chess moves against Cullen, more focused on pushing the tiny wooden mage around its small square on the board. Or, he'll lean against one of the posts down at the training grounds, watching with disinterested eyes while the Inquisition soldiers train as he thinks about the last time he went down there and found Cullen training them himself. Lana distracts him the best way she knows: ropes, for him this time, and a bit of magic to cool, warm, or gently shock his sorrows away. When she's gone, Cullen invites him to help with the training, often sparring with him himself. Cullen is gentle like Lana, he checks in with Alistair often, knowing that Lana being gone is like having a piece of Alistair's heart missing. There are lots of little, reassuring touches throughout the day in passing - and, of course, lots of attention and care at night.

Cullen buries himself in his work when he's feeling the weight of either of their absences - sometimes it's even both, such is the nature of their profession. Alistair distracts him, and often. Poor, unsuspecting scouts have walked in to Cullen's office only to find the commander pinned against the wall with Alistair's hands in his hair and lips against his - both fully clothed at that point, thank the Maker. Lana is more subtle, but over the years she's become accustomed to a certain level of contact every day from Alistair, and she knows Cullen would be missing that as well. So, she steals him away, to whatever dark corners of Skyhold she finds nearby when he's on his way to meet with Josephine, causing him to be very late, stumbling into her office with incorrectly ordered reports and mussed hair, only to be asked by the smirking ambassador if he had lost his right pauldron on his way there. If both are to be gone, they leave letters, each one with numbers written on the folded paper to specify which night he's to open them, each full of warm and spicy words to busy his hand late at night so they may join him even from afar.

#just days and days of that if any of them are gone #i do enjoy ot3 au #Lana Surana #Alistair Theirin #Cullen Rutherford #Lanistair #cullanistair #cullistair #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #my ocs

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comme-un-livre-ouvert · 4 years

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OT3 HC: Booker has days when he just. Doesn't function. It is always one of three ways; a frantic energy that he works out by sparring with Andy until he collapses in exhaustion, marathon sex with his lovers until they die of exhaustion, laying in bed and not getting out for anything. Joe and Nicky used to try and work him through the spells of melancholy but after Merrick, they work with him.

Hello, yes. This lady? She speaks my language. You get me on a deep level about this, babe. This got super long, so a bunch of it will be under a cut.

So! We all know that Booker isn’t the healthiest of people, if you’ll forgive the understatement. He’s depressed, he misses his first family (even though he loves his current family with all of his heart), and he has no concept of healthy coping mechanisms. Add on top of that all of his guilt and self-hatred and this makes for a Booker that tries to find the most destructive ways possible to soothe the ache in his chest.

During those early years especially, once his last child is laid to rest, Booker throws himself headfirst into training. I’m knee deep in the headcanon that Booker is an extremely competent fighter, due in no small part to his uncanny ability to mimic just about anything. He gels best with Andy, since the two of them are on the same level of anger and sorrow and self-destruction, so she’s the one he spars with the most. It takes them all many decades to realize that sometimes, he lets himself lose, even when he has a clear advantage, just to feel the sharp bite of the labrys or the sweet release of an accidental death. This is around the same time that he starts falling into bed with Joe and Nicky, and those two notice the pattern first. It takes some sneaky finagling and serious talking/bribing, but they manage to get their sister and their lover to tone in way the hell down.

This brings us to his second coping mechanism: marathon sex so hard and good that it literally kills him. They’ve only killed him three times with sex, none of which involved anything particularly kinky, so it takes Joe and Nicky a long time to realize that this is often just another version of the sparring he used to do with Andy. They hate themselves a little bit when they realize that they’ve been patting themselves on the back for good sex that was actually just another way for Booker to quiet the voices in his head through death and pain. This revelation breaks their hearts and makes Joe and Nicky feel so guilty that Booker actually sees through his haze of despair and self-loathing for long enough to spend the next year comforting them. He swears to never do it again, and he proves that his words were true when he makes sure to let them know when he’s feeling low enough that he wants to die via marathon sex. It’s this singular action that gives Joe and Nicky a spark of hope that Booker can be healed, and it sits heavy in the back of their minds during the mess that is Merrick and Copley. Had it not been for this, they may have given up on him entirely.

(In this world, that one act of self-awareness and remorse, as well as the follow-through that came afterwards, is what keeps Joe and Nicky from advocating for banishment. They are in pain, and they are hurt, but they return the favor that Booker gave him those decades ago by sitting still and listening to him, even when all they want to do is run away. Penance comes in a different form: a grounding from missions that proves to be the serotonin boost that Booker needs to begin healing himself, as well as the dictate that he must try this “therapy” thing that Nile is so adamant about. Booker goes off the alcohol on his own, with the support of his therapist, and takes up crochet, of all things. The repetitive motions help, and when Quynh arrives six months later when the team is away on a mission, she is immediately sat down and measured for a scarf and cap. She wears them with pride, despite the crooked stitches. They’re pink!)

This leaves the last form of self-destruction left to Booker, one that he only ever indulged in alone before: pure and unchecked catatonia. He doesn’t move, he doesn’t eat, he doesn’t drink, he barely even sleeps. If it weren’t for breathing being an automatic function of a living brain, he probably wouldn’t even breathe, either. Being around the others usually drives this off, but with all of his other usual methods of self-medicating gone, there comes a day a few years after London where Booker just...doesn’t get out of bed. They don’t have a mission, and the darkness had been creeping up on him for weeks. Nicky and Joe are distraught, of course. They’ve never seen him this way; even when he was drunk off his ass in the past, he was at least somewhat responsive. It takes a long call with Booker’s therapist and a hasty googling of certain terms they’ve never learned in English to figure out what’s going on. Armed with their new knowledge and their old determination, Nicky and Joe (with a bit of help from Nile, Quynh, and Andy) set up camp in their bedroom and prepare to weather out the storm.

Quiet kisses barely cause a blink. Soft words seem to fall upon deaf ears. Food doesn’t entice Booker from their bed, nor does water or even the promise of a single sip of whiskey. (They never try this last tactic again, as it actually makes Booker recoil, the last kind of reaction they wanted.) Music washes over and through him, as does TV and movies. Nicky finds that being read to in Italian seems to smooth Booker’s ragged breathing, and Joe is pleased to discover that his morning prayers, of all things, makes Booker’s eyes focus on him instead of on some vague middle distance. Over that first bout of bed-ridden depression, the lovers slowly find the little things that ease Booker’s sadness. When Booker finally manages to pull himself out of his haze, a week later, he feels ashamed and embarrassed. His lovers don’t let this stand, showering him with praise and kisses for fighting his way through it. Bouts like this happen with no discernable pattern, although the entire family eventually learns the warning signs. When the haze falls again, they bunker down in the nearest comfortable safehouse and ride it through, safe in the assurance that despite the pain, they’ll find each other again on the other side.

Seven hundred years down the line, when a new immortal joins the family, it’s Booker who helps them the most through their own despair and fear, their loss and their turmoil. They learn that time doesn’t erase the wound, but it can and will heal, if you have the patience to ride through the storm, and their new family will be right there with them the entire time.

#Sad Boi Sandwich #Booker and his canonical depression #cw: depression #I have feelings and now you have to endure them #I blame Gab #and myself #but mostly Gab in this instance #xoxo Gab you're the greatest!#Joe x Nicky x Booker

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breanime · 5 years

Text

Here For You

In honor of Ben’s birthday, here’s an unasked/uncalled for OT3 story featuring the one Ben character that we all know and love who he also never played!

Warning: depression, angst, steamy (the first part describes depression, so read with caution, and know that I didn’t leave it sad!)

*gifs not mine*

You were sad. You were so sad. You were that ‘can’t move, too tired, too empty’ kind of sad. It came out of nowhere, hit you hard, and wouldn’t leave. You stayed in bed all day, feeling sub-human, and tried to avoid all human contact. The weather matched your mood, storming on and off throughout the day. You let the sound of rain against your window keep you in bed, unwilling to move, comfortable in your sadness. James and Sirius had stopped by earlier, but you didn’t answer the door. Instead, you just sat on the floor, hugging your knees to your chest, and cried as the two people you loved most in the world knocked and called your name. You kept crying even after they left.

Now you were in bed, tears falling freely, facing the wall. You didn’t get like this often, but when you did, it took a toll on you. And what’s worse, it took a toll on James and Sirius. The sadness had ebbed, finally, and was giving way to guilt. All Sirius and James wanted to do, all they’d ever tried to do, was love you and make you happy. You loved them more than anything, your sweet, enchanting James and your charming, dark Sirius. You would do anything for them, and you knew—without a shadow of a doubt—that they’d do anything for you. They knew you were upset, the three of you were so close, it sometimes felt like they could read your mind with how well they knew how you were feeling or what you were thinking.

Your parents had come to visit you the night before, unannounced, unexpected, and unwelcomed. They yelled the usual things: that you were a “disappointment” and an “embarrassment”—the familiar tirade from your childhood, and they added new ones as well: “slut”, “whore”, and “dead to us”, which you were fine with. It wasn’t until they started going in on the boys—your boys—that you had a reaction. They’d tried to go on about how James was a fool and wasn’t going anywhere in life, and how Sirius was a player and could never be faithful to you, and you stuck up for your boys, told your parents that those two boys loved you and you loved them, and kicked them out. You were actually feeling a bit proud of yourself, before your father turned and said one last cutting remark.

“They’ll only using you. They don’t love you. No one could ever love you.”

Logic told you that he was wrong, that he was only saying that to hurt you, but your heart wasn’t fluent in logic. His words, “no one could ever love you”, hit you right in the chest, and the blow went through your blood all the way down to your toes. Your father was right. When you looked at the two men who said they loved you, who held you at night, leaving soft, warm kisses on your skin, you knew that you didn’t deserve them. How could someone like James, someone so warm and brilliant and bright, want to be with someone like you? How could you ever make him happy—truly happy—the way he deserved? How could Sirius, intelligent and sarcastic, a beautiful portrait that held a wealth of complex emotions within him, how could he want you? He could have anyone on the planet, and he deserved someone who could make him happy. Thank Merlin they had each other. Sirius and James were meant to be together; they were soulmates. But soulmates only came in sets of two, and you were only a fond distraction that they shared—and even that was a temporary gift from them to you. You had been lying to yourself, thinking that you could make them happy, that they could love you as much as you loved them—that they could love you at all. You’d been a fool, a naïve, delusional fool, to even think you’d ever get out from your parents’ shadows, that you could ever have a full life after Hogwarts. You deserved to be where you were, staring at the wall, lazily crying in the dark. This is where you were meant to be, what you were meant to be.

No one could ever love you.

Just then, softly, so soft that you thought that you—fully awake—had dreamt it, you felt a kiss on your cheek. You looked up, blinking back tears, to see Sirius leaning over you. His eyes, grey and dark as a stormy sky, were sad. Sad for you. “My sweet baby,” he said, voice soft and low. He kissed you again, and you closed your eyes from the sheer force of your emotions. You didn’t deserve him. He straightened up, turning to face the door. “She’s in here, mate. You were right.”

You rolled over, turning just in time to see James walk through your bedroom door. You could see his worry with every move he made; his eyes were wide, made wider by his glasses, as he approached you. He was wringing his hands, and unlike Sirius, couldn’t seem to stop moving. He stood at the edge of the bed, leg bouncing and fingers twitching, his messy hair messier than usual—proof that he’d been running his hands through it all day, a sign that he was upset. Both of your boys were soaking wet, their clothes sticking to their bodies with the amount of rain, eyes focused on you. “Hi, sweetheart,” James said, his voice cracking. He sounded like he had been crying, and he probably had been. He’d probably been crying over you.

That revelation brought a brand new batch of tears to your eyes, and you tried to sit up, but the weight in your chest was just too heavy, so you just nodded instead, trying to find the words to speak to the two people you loved most.

“Shh, shh,” Sirius said, his hand, cold from the rain, somehow warm on your face, “It’s okay, love, we’re here…” You shook your head, trying to talk, to say something, but all you could do was sob. “I know,” he whispered, “I know.”

“I—can we…” James swallowed, and you looked up at him through your tears. “…Can we hold you? Can… Can we stay?”

Your heart broke. You nodded, head sinking into your pillow. “Please,” you gasped out. That was all you could say.

James moved towards you, but Sirius stuck his hand out and stopped him. Wordlessly, Sirius stripped his shirt off and tossed it to the ground. James followed suit, and soon you had them naked in bed with you, cocooned in their arms, Sirius in front of you, and James behind you.

“We know your parents came to see you,” Sirius said, kissing your nose and forehead between words, “And we know they probably said some terrible things to you…”

“…Things your angel ears should never have to hear,” James mumbled into the back of your neck.

“But you need to know two things, okay?” Sirius went on.

You nodded, and he kissed your eyelids, forcing you to close your eyes in the most gentle way. That one gesture—so small and simple—made you feel more relaxed than you’d felt in hours. “Okay,” you whispered.

Sirius kissed your lips, a brief, soft peck, to reward you for your willingness to listen. James’ hand was on your stomach, and he leaned over and pressed an equally soft kiss to your cheek before relaxing behind you again. “One: your parents are pieces of shite,” Sirius said, “They’re cruel, cold people who’ve only done one good thing they’re entire life: made you.”

You opened your eyes to look at him. You could see the love in his eyes, pure and real and strong as he gazed back at you. He reached up and wiped away your tears, and you could see your own sorrow reflected in his eyes. Your hurt was as painful to him as it was to you. Possibly even more.

“And two,” James continued, always on the same wavelength as Sirius, “We love you. We love you so, so much, Y/N,” you couldn’t see his face, but you knew from his voice that he was crying, “You’re just… You mean everything to us. Me and Sirius, we would be lost without you. And on days like today, when you’re so, so sad, my love, we just… I just feel so helpless.” He kissed your neck again. “We just want you to be happy.”

You sobbed, falling into Sirius and burying your face in his neck. James curled around you, and Sirius wrapped his arms around the both of you, holding you close as you both cried. They loved you. They loved you. They loved you. How could you have doubted that love—even for a second? How could you have thought that these two boys—your boys—who looked at you with such warmth in their eyes, who held you like you were a precious jewel, who kissed you as if you were the sweetest thing they’d ever tasted—how could you have thought they didn’t love you? “I’m sorry,” you choked out, shaking as you cried, “I’m so sorry.”

“No, no,” Sirius said, mouth on your forehead, “no need to be sorry, love.”

“I thought… My father said… For a second, I thought…”

“Shh,” James hushed you, his breath warm and sweet on your ear, “It’s alright. It’s okay. You haven’t done anything wrong, sweetheart. Don’t be sorry.”

“We love you,” Sirius repeated, the three words making your heart swell, “The three of us, we’re meant to be. There’s no Sirius anymore, there’s just Sirius and James and you.” He kissed your temple. “And when you’re like this, when you’re sad and hurt and broken, when you can’t be strong for us…”

“—like you always are,” James added, voice soft as he nuzzled against the back of your head, burying his face in your hair, “You’re always so strong for us, baby. You always take care of us. Let us take care of you.”

“Please,” Sirius finished, “don’t box us out. We want to be here. We want to be with you.” He pulled back, looking down at you with those storm cloud eyes. “Let us be with you.”

You nodded, tears still falling. You thought you’d run out of them, but they kept coming. “I love you,” you said, “I love you both so much.”

“What do you need, sweetheart?” James asked. “Tell us what you want us to do, and we’ll do it. Anything you need, love.”

“Just don’t ask us to leave,” Sirius said, his voice just a tone above begging, “please, darling.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” you said, and you meant it.

“Do you want this?” James asked, referring to their naked bodies holding you. “Is this okay?”

“No.” You shifted, turning to look at James, his hazel eyes wide. “I’ve spent the last 24 hours only feeling sad and empty and terrible, I…” You looked at James and felt Sirius behind you. They made you whole, kept you grounded, and on days like this, they showed you just how much they loved you. “…I want to feel something good. Make me feel good.”

James smiled. It wasn’t his usual, careful smile, but it made your heart skip a beat all the same. “Anything you say, love.” He said. He glanced over at Sirius. “Nice and slow, alright, baby?” He asked.

Sirius nodded. “Nice and slow,” he agreed.

James leaned over and kissed you, his tongue slipping into your mouth as his hands dropped down to your waist. Sirius moved behind you, lifting your T-shirt and maneuvering it off of you. He left a trail of kisses down your neck, one hand cupping your breast and the other slipping beneath your underwear. You sighed, head falling back and landing on Sirius’ shoulder. James’ mouth was on your collarbones now, and he kissed down to your free breast, lips wrapping around the nipple as he sucked it into his mouth.

“Oh,” you gasped, “oh, James.”

You felt his smile around your nipple, and Sirius chuckled softly, fingers curling inside of you. You were so wet already, and you could feel both of their hard-ons in front and behind you. “Tell us where to kiss you,” Sirius instructed, always taking the lead.

“James, right there, stay right there,” you said, breathing heavily, “Sirius, I want your mouth there,” you flexed your thighs, squeezing his hand, and he laughed again.

“Lay on your back,” Sirius said. You moved, James’ mouth still on your breasts. You watched, speechless and breathless, as Sirius leaned down and dropped a kiss on James’ bare back. Sirius looked at you and grinned before moving, eyes on yours, down your body. He kept staring at you, even as James moved from your left breast to your right and descended down between your legs. He kissed your inner thigh, eyes still on yours, before ducking his head and licking your core, making you gasp.

James lifted his head and kissed you, stealing what little breath you had left. You could feel his hand, delightfully cold, on your breast, making your nipple hard. His other hand was on his cock, and you could feel him pumping it against your side. You dropped a hand down to join his, covering his hand and taking over the motions, pumping his cock slowly. James moaned loudly in your ear just as Sirius started to suck on your clit, and you pulled back from him, a sharp gasp leaving your lips. Your cheeks were dry now, your tears long gone as your loves touched you with such care, warm from their attentions. You threw your free hand in Sirius’ hair, pulling as he lapped at you. James brought your lips back to his, and you could feel his hot cock in your hands, memories of it inside of you making you shiver. You came in Sirius’ mouth, gasping into James’, legs shaking.

“We love you,” James said, mouth on yours, “We love you so much.”

“Turn over,” Sirius said, moving so that he was next to you. He kissed you before you could move, hand on your chin. “Hey,” he said, smiling, “We love you.”

“I love you, too,” you said back. He kissed you again before turning you, his hand son your hips. You turned and smiled at James. “I love you.”

James kissed you, and you felt Sirius’ mouth on your ass, lovingly placing a kiss there. James helped you wrap your leg around his middle, and Sirius moved again. You felt his dick on your ass, and you closed your eyes, ready to receive them both.

James pushed into you first, dropping his head into your neck, gasping at the feel of your wetness around him. You whispered his name, one hand in his hair, petting the wet, messy strands. Sirius was next, pressing into you from behind, and you cried out at the pleasure. He groaned, moving slowly so that he wouldn’t hurt you, and cursed lowly as he rocked against you. You simply lay there, propped up on your side, as both of your boys loved you down. There was nothing like the feel of them both inside of you at once, the connection so complete as they both moved their hips against you, the sound of flesh on flesh filling the room, your breath mingling together, breathing as one as the three of you showed one another how much you loved each other. James reached over and grabbed Sirius’ free hand, and you felt them both leave kisses on your body. You couldn’t be sure who was kissing you where, and it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that the three of you were together.

“I’m close,” you gasped out, twisting up so you could put your hands on both of them at once, “James! Sirius! I’m so close!”

“We got you, baby,” Sirius growled behind you, pushing up into you.

“Cum,” James demanded, “cum for us, love. Let us feel it.”

You came, eyes squeezed shut as you exploded, shivering and shaking from the strength of your orgasm. Your boys came at the same time, James with a whimper and Sirius with a shout, filling you in ways that were more than just the physical. You floated on a cloud of pure love after that, only vaguely registering Sirius’ “looks like we tired her out” and James’ answering chuckle as they moved around you. They cleaned you up, stopping to kiss you and whisper “I love you” in your ear, and you felt so good, so complete, the thought of your earlier sadness a thing of the past. They loved you, and you knew it. No one, not your father, your mother, Merlin himself, could ever tell you otherwise.

James was opening the blinds when you opened your eyes again, and Sirius was gathering all of your clothes and throwing them in a neat pile in the corner of the room. One of them had thrown your blanket over you, and you snuggled into its warmth. You smiled up at them, feeling light, loved, and lucky, and they smiled too. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Sirius said back, laughing.

“Hi,” James parroted with a grin.

You opened your arms, inviting them back to bed, and they both came over to you, crawling into bed and holding you. “I love you,” you said, closing your eyes as two sets of lips reached down to kiss your forehead.

“We love you, too,” James said, “and we’re always be here for you.”

“Always,” Sirius agreed, “Even when you don’t want us to be.”

You laughed at that absurd statement. “I want to be with you guys forever,” you said. You looked up at them, gazing into their eyes; warm brown and dusky grey, and you knew that you were loved, and that you loved them. “I love you so much.”

“I promise,” Sirius said, leaning over to kiss you, “we love you more.”

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

I made myself sad writing this, because I’m depressed and having to write it out and put it into words was...WOOF. But the smut was fun! Let me know what you think, and just know, whenever you’re feeling down or sad or upset, that I get it, and I love you. Thanks for reading, loves!

Taglist: @lexxierave @loveintheroyalfamily @suchatinyinfinity @fanfictionrecommendations-com @maxslime-blog @elanor-of-imladris@songforhema @lucielandss @fandomlifeandeverythingelse @themadhatter92@realduckvader @the-blind-assassin-12 @christinawxxx @anabella-baby @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @luminex3 @littlemermaidprobz @ashkuuuu@luckysstrikes @carlaangel86 @floralpeaceofmind @dylanobrusso@teacuplotus @iaintnofurry @thesumofmychoices @ymariejp @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @mrsjaxtellerfan @whovianayesha @holamor @drinix @rhabakoli @stories-you-wont-hear @king4thesirens @bellamys @marauderskeeper @charlylama@thesandbeneathmytoes @gollyderek @leahnicole1219

Sirius Taglist: @miss-nerd95 @a-jem-found-in-a-papaya @ladyblablabla

OT3 Taglist:@sssilverssserpent @belladonnarey @thesumofmychoices @vhogan @songtoyou @holydream

(Let me know if you want to be added/removed from any of these taglists!)

#sirius black x reader #james potter x reader #sirius black x james potter #sirius black imagine #james potter imagine #marauders #sirius black x reader x james potter

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2ofswords · 4 years

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003 lara

How I feel about this character: I love Lara! (Okay, yeah maybe I’m repeating myself, but I love a lot of these characters, okay?) She is one of my favorites and just the entire atmosphere of the shelter is so amazing and she is such an interesting character and so cool and strict at the same time and her sorrow is so tangible and her whole endeavor to help so sympathetic and compelling and urgh! I love my girl!

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Oh dear… A lot of people. Lara/Eva: This one is just super cute and I think the both could really help each other! They’re both searching for their role in live and I think the other persons perspective could be really interesting for them. Also they both deserve a caring partner. Lara/Rubin: They both have a very aggressive way of caring, which could be super cute as well as hilarious. They are both so hard working and I could see them both having a lot of respect for this attitude and this “no words, no bullshit, only good deeds” thing. Sure as hell a power couple. Bi rights, everyone! Lara/Aspity: Okay, that one would obviously need for Lara to work through her racism bullshit, but I believe in her. And I think this pairing has a lot of potential. They’re literally so far apart from each other (both in the town’s placement as well as what this placement represents) but share a lot of beliefs with each other. They both have a shelter for people who need it and show compassion for those the rest of the town doesn’t think of. They also both (again) have the attitude of deeds over words (they even are the only ones with the “words without deeds fill a garden with naught but weeds” voiceline) and I think they would be a very interesting fit. Lara/Yulia: Troubled exes, baby! Okay, I just love two headstrong people bickering over their worldview. And Yulia as well as Lara obviously care and respect each other but have so different ways of thinking. (And the statement of Lara, that she thinks she’s cool but just hates the way she thinks and thinks she would be so amazing otherwise… gold.) I just love a good clash of ideology and there’s much to gain here! Lara/Artemy: More bi people. This is a milder one, but I think they’re cute together. They definitely care about each other and Lara can give Artemy the help and calm he needs. They also do understand each other’s sorrows. They’re very cute platonically as well, but even as my other ships with both of them are stronger, I think this one works either well without losing anything.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: I will be honest, I would love to just put Lara+Artemy here, since I still love it platonically a bit more. The question above just told me to list all my ships and not only the one, I was specifically excited about… But I would be a fool, if I would not mention Grief, the last apple basket member, who I do not ship with Lara romantically but who should definitely be mentioned as a friend. I love his chaotic but good natured energy in contrast to Lara’s strict but caring attitude and I can see them as kids, where Grief would propose something stupid that Lara would sass but still get along with.

My unpopular opinion about this character: It’s probably not an “unpopular opinion” but it’s a hot take about something I’ve seen. I really don’t think Lara is only the “token female” in the apple basket group and criticising her for being in it at all seems kind of sketchy to me, especially if the people magically only ship Rubin/Grief for the gang and Artemy with Daniil (or someone else not in the friend-group), so that there is no room for her in the interaction. Like… you do you and shipping them is fun and stuff, that’s not my problem at all. But maybe the reason you feel like she doesn’t have a place in the group and adds nothing is not because of the game at this point. Please don’t act like you can just abandon Lara and call her a “bad fit” to the group, she is her own character with her own agency and her own plot and her own reason to be in the apple basket gang as well as her own influence on the group dynamic. She is the one to tell Rubin off when he blames Artemy and he actually thinks that she was the one to gather everyone. She is the one actually reconciling with Grief and standing next to him in the post Diurnal end, while Rubin is keeping his distance. She is the one trying to protect everyone from taking the blame when she tries to shoot Block. She is the one, whose reflection reminisces of their old childhood friendship and reminds you of your bonds and how the group is connected through letting actions guide them. If you don’t like her, sure. People can like or not like whatever they want and there are other reasons to not want to engage with her. But it might not be the best look to use her being female specifically to defy her being a valid member of the gang. She isn’t just a token female character, because she’s so much more than that just by her agency in the narrative alone! She clearly adds to the group dynamic and the plot, so she the argument just doesn’t hold up. Yeah having only one female in the friend group is a bit cliche (especially when gay table seems to suffer from the same problem) but criticizing that female character for it – especially if she actually adds to the dynamic – is not the solution! You can engage with her, I believe in you!

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: As with all parts of the apple basket gang, addressing her racism properly and at least giving like one of them the chance to realize the shittyness of it would have been great and actually necessary. There isn’t even a chance to address it properly and that’s a real problem. I also miss the female aristocrats gang and their mischief, especially through the whole Block assassination questline. Maybe we’ll get more of that in another route though, that would be great!

My OTP: Lara/Rubin. Without a doubt. I think they’re a great fit for each other ^^

My OT3: Hm… I don’t have a set one. If we’re talking Patho1, I could see Lara/Yulia/Anna. Lady aristocrats are for each other (Sorry, I’m not over this term, thanks Yulia!) I’m trying to think of something with Lara and Eva, since I think Eva would be so open for a threesome. Maybe Lara/Eva/Yulia could be fun, but holy, Eva would have to mediate! “I love my two girlfriends” she said while said girlfriends had an aggressive make-out over some stupid debate.

#Lara Ravel #crimsondaisy #ask

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unforestalledreturn · 4 years

Text

Atsui Springs- Part 4

|| Fan fic part 4/5? Synopsis: After discovering his two best friends doing the dirty on his own bed, Genesis’ world is turned upside down. Now, the two of them have a lover’s getaway planned at Atsui, an elite resort famed for their hot springs. But not everything appears at it seems. And Genesis inexplicably finds himself crashing the getaway but discovering a truth hidden right beneath his nose. Featured ships: My guilty pleasure, OT3. NSFW: Yes, but not in this part Word Count: 2361 Part 1: Uninvited Guest Part 2: Awe Part 3: Unraveling

Part 4: Crimson Flower “Genesis… lets… play a game.” Sephiroth said, a near purr at his throat.

Curious, the redhead reached for one of the small dishes, bringing the liquid to his nose to smell. Strangely enough, it did not smell remotely alcoholic. “Oh? You think you can beat me at something?”

“Yes.” Sephiroth smirked. “Its SOLDIER grade, you know. The stuff would probably kill a civilian.” He gestured to the sake cups. “…So?”

At some point, Angeal had settled next to Genesis, quietly eyeing the exchange. While no antagonistic fires had been stoked yet, the man was intuitively on guard.

Genesis smiled sweetly in return. “Hmmm… The mighty Sephiroth turned hapless drunk.” Amused by the imagery, the redhead continued, “Fine. You joining, Angeal?” He swayed his head to look over at the quiet figure who blinked a couple of times before laughing nervously.

“G.. genesis… I do not think that is… a good idea.” Angeal trailed off.

“Oh, come on. I promise I won’t tell Sephiroth the time you tried to escort the stop sign across the stree-” Suddenly, Angeal’s hand was clasped around the redhead’s mouth. Genesis flashed an amused look towards Angeal before tapping his arm in submission. Only then was he released, but the redhead could not help but laugh a bit.

“It will be fun,” Genesis said, although, a part of him understood. Already, the tensions were high. Alcohol had a way of letting loose what was already difficult to contain. But the redhead could find no alternative. His thoughts were contained only to the present moment. Thinking beyond that was more than his emotionally exhausted brain could handle.

He needed something, anything to focus on. It did not matter what it was—it just has to be engaging. It had to be something mindless… It had to be something non-committal. Something to relieve his pains, even if the short-term act was the source of long-term sorrow. How… achingly familiar. It was funny, though. He could still feel Angeal’s warmth against his face. It oozed through his raw nerves, covering it like honey. Only, unlike other touches… It left him feeling… happy, even when it was gone.

Genesis smiled to himself. He was doomed.

“Rules are simple. We will take turns asking the other to select a truth they wish to reveal or a dare they will perform. The asker will define the conditions whereas the asked can opt to execute the conditions or… take a drink.” Sephiroth explained clinically, despite the growing smile on his face.

Laughter erupted from Genesis, frame hunching over as he gasped for air. “I… I… You mean we are playing Truth or Dare, right? Or did you come up with that one all by yourself.”

Frowning, Sephiroth crossed his arms. “If you are so keen, you go first. Ask.” A faint tinge of red dusted his cheeks.

“With pleasure. Angeal… Truth or dare?” Genesis hummed excitedly, the wheels of his mind visibly churning.

Uneasily, Angeal looked at Genesis, seemingly at a loss of what he could do. Gradually, he came to say, “…Dare.”

Smirking widely, resting his forearm against Angeal’s shoulder and leaning in, Genesis did not lose a second before he delivered the ‘condition’. “I dare you to come with me to peek into the lady’s bath--”

The response was immediate. Angeal grabbed the sake cup and downed it in a quick flick of his head. “Oh…”

It was too easy. And Genesis could not help but to snicker, covering his mouth loosely with his fingers. “Oh?”

“… You can’t taste the alcohol.” Angeal deadpanned, eye twitching as Sephiroth smoothly refilled the cup, eyes glittering in delight.

Curious, Genesis took his own cup again and took a tentative sip. It was subtly sweet, a hint of citrus and something herbal he could not place. But, true to Angeal’s words, the alcohol was either cleverly masked, or not present at all.

“Hmm… ~” Genesis smiled. “Your turn.”

Clearing his throat, Angeal focused his attention to Sephiroth. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Um… What… is in this alcohol?” Angeal asked, licking his lips.

Tilting his head, Sephiroth gave an amused smirk. “Is that your question?”

Blinking, Angeal gave a sheepish shrug.

And to both Angeal and Genesis’ surprise, Sephiroth continued smiling as he reached for his own cup and slowly swallowed it down.

“Genesis,” he said, pausing a moment before refilling his cup. “Truth or dare.”

Leaning over the table, Genesis rested his elbow against the surface, his chin perched on his palm as he intently fixated his gaze on the man in front of him. Indeed, he never did know what to expect of the man. Was it on purpose? What sort of secret could he be hiding? Or, perhaps, it was merely that he wanted to drink.

“Truth. I’ll chug the whole thing if I can’t answer.” Genesis challenged, leering at Sephiroth. There was nothing that Genesis could not lie about. And if he could stir some friendly competition, perhaps things could…

Go back to normal.

But what Sephiroth said next shattered the thought entirely.

Do you have a type you prefer to sleep with?

Did he… have a… “What does who I sleep with even matter to you?” He snapped, a growl at the back of his throat. Crossing his arms tightly, Genesis felt it at the base of his gut—the flame of simmering wrath that Sephiroth always managed to find a way to stoke. And given his unchanged expression, it felt like it was on purpose.

"Genesis, it's part of the game..." Angeal gently reminded, although he too had his eyes fixed on Genesis for some reason, as though intent on a response. He seemed nervous.

"Just answer the question or drink," Sephiroth said expressionlessly, fist tightening against his leg. The tension was visible. The air was thick with it.

Scoffing, Genesis angrily reached for something to throw into his mouth, from the table, a ball of rice being the victim of his anger. He took his time to chew, his heart scrambling to put itself back together. It was hard. Why did it have to be so hard? With anyone else, this sort of game, these sorts of questions were easy. Talking about crushes, giggling over bizarre fetishes, or having a ‘type’ was really what made it fun. But now? Now it just hurt. He ached in a way that threatened to swallow him whole.

He wanted to leave. But what good would spoiling Angeal's vacation? He had been planning this for months. Even if it was meant to be a romantic getaway for just him and Sephiroth...

Genesis winced. He was just baggage, wasn't he? He should have left.

"... I don't care." He finally said, brushing a few grains of rice off his face. "I don't have a type. Just give me a pretty face, and I'll probably fuck them." He slouched over to rest an elbow on the inside of his crossed legs. Perhaps he should have just chugged the alcohol. Given the way Angeal flinched, he knew his words were harsh. But Sephiroth was unaffected-- in fact, he had yet to lose the smirk from when they started the game.

Genesis felt his eyes sting as he stared at the table full of food. Nothing tasted good anymore. And when Genesis started to feel this way, he knew he was unrecoverable. Because if nothing tasted good, he would settle for anything.

“Truth or dare, Sephiroth.” He managed to say. He simply had to push through it. Whenever this sort of thing happened, it was the only way. Just as quickly as the anger and hurt came up, he had to divert the attention. Because if he dared let up if there was a single moment where those feelings were given center stage…

It could be the end. And Genesis refused. This… was all he had. And he would not give it up without a fight. For Angeal's sake, he was going to at least try... For... Sephiroth too. He could not face reality. If he hesitated... if he failed…

He was going to lose everything.

"Truth," Sephiroth stated.

“Fine. What is your type?” He directed the question back, although, he immediately regretted it the moment it came out. It was like every raw and brittle nerve he had was firing at once. Genesis was acting on impulse. There was no more calculation, careful distance or laughing masks.

Sephiroth tilted his head, before softly glancing over towards Angeal. “Someone… reliable.”

Genesis felt the vision around his eyes crowd. Why was it he already knew the answer? It was whatever Angeal was, right? Someone stable, someone who did not cave to every whim that came his way. Right? And while there was a time that Genesis had believed they were all so close… that the three of them had a bond like no one else…

But it was just him who felt that way, wasn’t it?

“Loyal.” Sephiroth continued, and Genesis felt his heart collapsing in on itself.

Please, no. Let him live the fantasy. Let him make love to the lies and ignore the truth. Please, don’t speak.

Please. He promised this would be the only lie. It was too sweet, too cruel for him to let go.

Don’t leave me behind.

There was silence. Genesis was shaking, breath ragged as he fought the welling of tears from breaching.

I’ll be better.

I won’t act out anymore.

P… please.

But the silence pervaded, and gradually, Genesis looked up, eyes caught in that ever-predatory gaze. And as prey, the redhead was trapped. Why was Sephiroth smiling that way? It was soft.

Genesis was scared.

“… and passionate,” Sephiroth said gently.

Everything was a blur as he stood from the tatami mat. The blood in his ears drowned all other noise. Something had shattered in his chest—he was bleeding all over the place. And he followed his body as it ran to the nearest exit.

“G-genesis! Where—” Angeal shouted after him, immediately on his feet and on the heels of his friend, hand clasping on the crook of his elbow, although a secure grip was impossible with all the extra fabric.

Jamming his fingers into the sliding door, the redhead threw the thin piece of wood back with a force that made the delicate frame splinter on impact.

"Leaving." He retorted, but before he could even step onto the catwalk, he was stopped by a more secure grip.

"Where...?" Angeal whispered, desperate to secure a hold.

But Genesis wrenched his arm away, turning to face Angeal “A… anywhere but… here. The bar. … I… I get it.” The redhead’s chest heaved. “I really… fucking get it. But you didn’t… have to drag me out here just because you felt … guilty. Just…”

Whipping around again, Genesis stepped forward to the outer catwalk, only to find himself face-first into something solid. Looking up, he found Sephiroth blocking his path.

"Move." He hissed. And when Sephiroth did not comply, he attempted to forcibly shoulder his way through. But he was swiftly reminded why it was he had yet to succeed in besting the man in any of their duels. Sephiroth's grip on his wrists was like iron clasps. "Let me--"

"What is it you are going to do at the bar, Genesis?”

Hissing, he strained, "D-drink. And if someone wants to take me home, I'm feeling about ready to get fucked up." At least his body could match his emotional state.

"There's alcohol here," Sephiroth said, unrelenting, leaning closer to Genesis.

Confused and upset, Genesis met the look as his mind attempted to register what it was Sephiroth meant. He certainly understood the implication. But it simply did not fit. "What the hell is that supposed-- Genesis would not have much time to think, as the gap inexplicably shortened between the two.

He gasped as their lips nearly collided. Instead, Sephiroth’s face was impossibly close, the smell of the supposed alcohol on his breath. Jerking his head away, Genesis struggled to break free from the grasp, but his motivation was rapidly depleting. And when a warm, familiar embrace wrapped around him from behind, it was gone. What was the use?

Hanging his head to the side, tears splattered on the wood below.

The embrace around him tightened. Softly, Angeal spoke, tone weighted and on the verge of cracking. But it was insistent all the same. “... Genesis... This... This was not what I envisioned this to be.” He whispered, burying his face into his friend’s back.

“I'm… I’m sorry.” His voice muffled against the redhead’s exposed skin.

It hurt. When Genesis thought he was beyond it, that he had numbed enough, Angeal’s words were another open wound.

"A.. and just what did you envision it to be... Huh? Not much of... A romantic get away with a third wheel." He said bitterly through broken sobs.

Sighing softly, Angeal gently tightened his grip. "You... Aren't a third wheel, Genesis." He said, hands rubbing against the redhead’s chest attempting to soothe him. He opened his mouth to say something more, but the words did not come.

“Your mission was extended longer than anticipated.” Sephiroth cut through, and although his grip was unyielding, the intense pressure lessened some, now that Genesis had stopped thrashing.

Sniffling, Genesis did not look up. Drained, he said, “My.. mission had nothing to do… with my best friends fucking each other.” His mouth was dry. “I… I was wrong, ok? I’m sorry. I… I thought we were all the same. That we felt… the same. But.. I just… I need to be… alone.” He choked out.

Genesis hated himself. His polished act was completely destroyed, laying with the tears at his feet. He was a sniveling mess. And there, blossomed in his chest was that reddened flower of corruption. There was nothing beautiful about it. There was nothing redeemable about it.

A certain silence fell over the trio. The words hung in the air like a guillotine.

Sephiroth released one of Genesis' wrists to instead grip his chin, forcing the redhead to look at the silver elite. Gently, he brushed a thumb over the rolling tears on his cheeks.

"We do feel the same."

#fanfic #Atsui Springs #Atsui Springs: Part 4 #u thought it couldn't get any angstier didn't ya?#sike

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margridarnauds · 5 years

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A, F, G, M, S, T, V

THANKS AVERY.

A. If you could rec a piece of music to accompany one of your fics, what would you pick? Why?

Yakety Sax for Goosefic.

Alright, seriously? It’s totally not like I have a playlist or something stored anywhere, because that would be insane, right?

Illuminated by Hurts - Ah, Ça Ira. “Time waits for no one/So do you want to waste some time/Oh, oh, oh, oh/Tonight?” AKA “Ronan realizing that he might not make it back the next day and trying to get Laz to come to bed and reconcile with him, not necessarily because he wants to SLEEP with him, but because he wants his boyfriend there with him. “Swim with your sorrows/And try delusion for a while/It’s such a beautiful lie” Lazare frantically scribbling out his justifications on the paper, even though he has to KNOW that Artois’ going to abandon him and it’s going to be worthless. “Suddenly my eyes are open/Everything comes into focus/Blinding” GENERALLY I get Laz vibes from this line, with him gradually realizing how important Ronan is to him and that some part of him WANTS the new world that Ronan was, but the last few lines also work for Ronan’s (unstated, in-text, but there in canon) decision to charge in front of du Puget, realizing that he HAS to save Olympe from being orphaned like he was.

Either Dream of Sky (Dancing Line OST) or Forbidden Friendship (HTTYD OST) - Le Cri. Both of them have that sort of tentative, new feeling where things start out so soft and with that kind of innocence but as time goes on, it becomes so much MORE.

I’ve Seen Hell (North and South OST)/Ashes (Celine Dion) - Pour la Peine. I’ve Seen Hell is one of my go-to Period Drama songs, but I LOVE how it has that bleak feel while also not being COMPLETELY bleak and miserable, there’s that idea of PUSHING through in spite of it. And Ashes also kind of has a similar vibe, as far as openly asking how...there can be any GOOD after that kind of devastating tragedy (even though a part of me will always seen Ryan Reynolds doing interpretive dancing to it, tbh). Ashes is much more...RELIGIOUS in bent than Solène generally goes with, but I think it WORKS as far as that general feeling of despair and abandonment that she starts off with “Every word shot down in flames/What’s left to do/With these broken pieces on the floor?/I’m losing my voice/Calling on you”

Wicked Game - Personally, I favor it for A Pressing Matter, though it really works for Peyronan in general. “What a wicked game/To make me feel this way/What a wicked thing to do/To make me dream of you” AKA “Peyrol’s ENTIRE thought process when he realizes that, against his own judgement, he’s gotten attached to Ronan and that that’s a MAJOR weakness.

F. What stories are you planning for the future?

I have. So many WIPS that I’m DYING to release soon. One is very obviously the Fairy Tale AU, which I’m very pumped about. There’s the one that’s just called “Madame Roland is a Lesbian” that I’m excited for. At some point, I’m going to have to expand the Abomination and the Verse it encompasses, stretching from where we start off in the Beauce in 1777 to at LEAST the early 19th century, possibly into the 1840s.

Between the Waves is going to get a LOT more added to its Verse, hopefully. I already have at least two WIPS that are partially finished and give a little bit more context to things that are happening in the next few chapters, one from Olympe’s perspective on the pre-canon events that stretches to the post, one from Artois’ on some of the events of PLP, and I either have an Afterlife AU, a Reincarnation AU, or both to wrap it up, possibly with us ending up where we began. (No, not on Marat’s printing press.) I’ve also toyed with fleshing out a little more about how Peyronan got to where we see them in A Pressing Matter, to round out the series. Either way, though, I do intend for this to end up being a VERSE, not necessarily just one or two stand-alones. There’s a lot that’s...going to pop up here or there that I INTEND at least to expand on. I rarely like to leave things HANGING like that.

There’s also the Peasant Lazare AU which, even though it’s basically a laughing stock among my friends IRL at this point, is still very important to me and I’ve never fully given it up.

I’m definitely going to expand the Ripples in the Rockpool Verse, HOPEFULLY dipping more into the historical events that are happening around this time and a little more on how the OT3 ended up where they get to be in Back on the Shore.

There’s a Vampire AU that I’ve been toying with back and forth, and I STILL haven’t given up on The Zombie Apocalypse AU, though I’d like to focus on that one more when I have a fewer WIP count and I can more thoroughly outline it. Also @lehetsz-kiraly and I have toyed around with a Superhero AU that I would 100% like to see get off the ground, and I also am totally planning on toying with the TN crossover as time goes on. I obviously have no idea....WHEN or HOW, but it’s somewhere nebulously on my To-Do list.

And, of course, the Disneyworld AU. One day, I will finish it.

G. Where do you think you grew the most this year?

Honestly, I think the drabble challenge was a GREAT opportunity to throw myself into a variety of things that I NEVER would have considered before. I’ve gone from EXCLUSIVELY writing 1789 and Irish Mythology stuff to really working with anything that really vibes with me, which has been VERY exciting. And, between Le Cri, A Pressing Matter, and Back on the Shore, I’ve gotten several things that I’ve been talking about and tossing around for YEARS on the page and out there in some form or another. I’m still going to stick around 1789, of course, that’s still my BABY, but I really got the chance to work with a lot of things I’d have never normally have thrown myself into and had the chance to toy with my style in a way that I normally wouldn’t.

M. Meta! Have any meta about a story you’re dying to throw out there?

Oh God, there’s ONE THING that I WANT to write the meta for but SPOILERS. That I don’t even know if it’s SPOILERS anymore. (I should honestly get into the habit of asking people “SO WHAT DO YOU THINK’S GOING TO HAPPEN NOW” like a thirteen year old who’s just uploaded their first Wattpad fic, but alas). But, since I’m working on PLP at the moment, have this:

No, she gets no sleep tonight, her eyes locked on the bayonets as they gleam in the moonlight. She lays and waits and thinks.

Several hours later, a shot rings out in the dark. All the demons of Hell break loose, the only thought on Solène’s mind being that of another night, another volley of shots.

They mean to massacre them all.

The Queen has changed the King’s mind again and they will all be killed.

Every part of her knows it, screaming in her mind as they make their way for the Queen’s quarters, all else, all other thoughts disappearing.

A panicked voice asks them what they think they’re doing and another voice, she doesn’t know if it’s hers or one of the women with her, replies, “We’ll cut off her head, rip out her heart, fry her liver, and that won’t be the end of it!”

They are done with this, done with the queen, and they will take whatever they can get.

They have endured too much pain at this point to just curl up and die.

This wasn’t a fight they wanted to begin, but if it was a fight they needed to survive the night, they could give it to them.

They could give and give and give as they had always done, all of their lives.

A few guardsmen try to stop them, but they disappear beneath the wave of bodies flooding the palace. One of them breaks free, runs and pounds on the door, his bloodied hand staining the expensive, gilt wood as it slams against it before he’s tossed aside. “Save the Queen!”

A door slams ahead of them as they reach the room, the room itself is deserted, except for one woman who rushes in front of them all.

“I am the Queen!”

Solène recognizes the voice even before she can see her in the light of the torches, still wearing the clothing that she’d worn the night before, and she freezes.

So, for this section, I ripped a LOT from the historical record, as far as the threats the women made on the life of Marie Antoinette, the guard slamming on the door, the shot in the dark panicking the mob, BUT I also actually did look up at least one article on mob mentality to try to understand HOW someone would get involved with something like this. And the first thing I focused on was the INDIVIDUAL getting pushed aside in favor of the group. And the main way I ended up TRYING to get that to show through was in Solène’s reaction.

At first, she starts off as a singular: “She lays and waits and thinks” “The only thought on Solène’s mind,” etc. But then, immediately AFTER that, as the panic sets in, she becomes a PLURAL, “They mean to massacre them all” “They will all be killed,” “they are done with this” “they have endured too much.” And it really reaches its height when they enter MA’s chambers, as she doesn’t even know WHO is speaking. It could’ve been her, it could’ve been the woman by her side, likewise with the guard who’s severely hurt (also, the “wave” of bodies, going back to the overall theme of water that’s there in PLP). She doesn’t know, because at this point, they’re one whole body acting out at the same time. (There’s one brief point where Solène becomes a “her” again, but it’s only to say that her brain is NOT necessarily...its usual self, “all other thoughts disappearing,” which repeats what she’d also said when the shot first went off; she’s very much acting on INSTINCT here.)

When does she become Solène again? When Olympe runs in front of her. She and Olympe are not a Thing per se, not at this point, even though Solène’s recognizing that she’s “a little bit in love with her,” but Solène does care enough for Olympe that she was able to be snapped out of it. In the chapter that I currently have sitting in my drafts and that SHOULD be published in the next day or so, there’s a bit where Olympe questions whether Solène would have continued on if she hadn’t been there. Solène says that she doesn’t know, because to HER this unlocked a part of herself that she didn’t really know was THERE, the kind of radicalism that she tends to associate with Ronan and the other revolutionaries (ESPECIALLY Maillard, who is kind of Ronan-By-Proxy here as a vanqueur of the Bastille who is ultimately ineffective when it comes to Solène’s complaints.) Personally? Even though I fully leave it up to interpretation, and everyone’s free to say “No, you’re wrong,” I wrote it with the idea that Solène probably would have done a Hell of a lot more harm had Olympe not been there.

This is also fully intended as a parallel to Peyronan. (”NO, RACHEL, PEYRONAN ARE A THING? I HAD NO IDEA! THE SPOILERS!”) Both Peyrol and Solène had the same choice in this chapter, at its core: Their goal at hand, or the person they love. Peyrol let the army and his loyalty to the Monarchy get the better of him, Ronan ended up paying the price for it, and, as we see both at the funeral and at the trial at the beginning of the chapter...Laz is BROKEN by it. Solène doesn’t realize why he’s broken and even doubts that he is, because she doesn’t have the perspective, but...LOOK at him. He is not doing Well. He didn’t gain anything from what he did. In a snap-second decision, he chose his career and decades of indoctrination over Ronan, and he ended up losing both. Solène chose to break out of it and save Olympe, even if she was personally endangered by it. It doesn’t mean that one loved their person more than the other one, but it DOES mean that they get very different results. There’s a climb to the light for Laz as well, I’m not going to just...LEAVE him, but it’s going to be much, much longer than Solène’s.

S. What’s the sexiest thing you wrote this year?

I’ll be honest: I know I have (2) Official Smut Fics to my name now, but I honestly don’t FEEL like anything I’ve written’s particularly SEXY so much as Describing Sex. This isn’t me being a Pretentious Literary Author who Does Not Write Porn, oh no; it’s that I genuinely don’t believe that what I write...qualifies as “sexy”. That being said, despite being only 100 words, “Honey Plunged Into Water” is probably the sexehiest. Which is hilarious because it’s also the kind of thing I would NEVER have written otherwise. There is one...unpublished fic for A Passage Through the Light that features Madame Roland/Marie-Anne that is....very, very gay and is probably honestly the sexiest thing I’ve ever written even without them actually doing the do.

T. Themes, motherfucker, do you have them? What are they?

Earn Your Happy Ending, the question as far as the difference between society and what someone’s been conditioned to be like VS the individual, uncertainty, unease, that question of how much you really CAN know someone else, that general feeling of the calm before (or even during) the storm and how people can find intimacy then. There’s a lot of the gothic element there as far as the past, and the people who were THERE in the past, never really being...GONE from the narrative. Like, one way or another, they have the tendency to come back, whether it’s as a literal ghost or whether it’s just their skeleton buried underneath a tree somewhere.

V. Which story was the most viscerally pleasing to write? Tell us your narrative kinks.

This is painfully predictable, but I THOROUGHLY enjoyed every second of writing Forgiveness. To this day, it’s probably the ONE piece of Peyronan stuff (besides Fowl Play!) that I’ve written where I’m, like, 95% happy with the final result, which is REMARKABLE for me. I really, really loved getting to WORK with their relationship and what makes it WORK at the heart of everything, the progression of it, the gradual increase in intimacy, the way they come to have that moment of “We’re in this one TOGETHER,” and an ending that’s HOPEFUL even though there’s still the ever-present promise of the Revolution in the background. All of that is a LOT of what I tend to like in my Peyronan to begin with, so it was really fantastic to just get that all out on the page. It’s one of those moments where I just want to gesture all over the page and go “THESE TWO LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH” even though they still have their bickering and their petty little moments.

Another one that’s a WIP but that I feel’s far enough along to actually TALK about is the Fairy Tale AU (It has a name, but I tend to feel like announcing its name is jinxing it and I DO desperately want to get it out soon) and...it’s not my usual writing style, it’s not my usual way of doing things. There are some things that I do there that I wouldn’t necessarily do in a usual, realistic fic because it’s a FAIRY TALE that’s being given the 1789 treatment. It was really, really interesting to get to work with some of my favorite fairy tales, see some of the ways they’ve been told and retold throughout the years, especially looking for the ones that focus on commoner protagonists, elements of the gothic and dark fantasy mixed in there with the light. I’m not really that USED to getting to go wild, so it’s been a lot of fun to have one project where the research is less on the minutiae of 18th century life and more on...like....the similarities between the Italian and the Breton versions of The Travelling Companion folkstory.

#janetcarter

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undiscovereduniverse · 6 years

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tagged by @annevbonny, @medusinestories @jamesbarlow @jaune-clair THANK YOU ALL <3 <3

rules: post the last sentence you wrote, and tag as many people as there are words in that sentence. I’m gonna ignore this because I haven’t written anything in months and I have no idea what my last sentence was!! Instead, I'll spoil another part of the fic that I will never finish, a post season 4 silverflinthamilton happy ever after in which the major plot point is silver telling flint about his past (I already spoiled my story for silver’s past a while ago, you can find it here: X ).

This time, I’ll spoil my favourite part of this fic: Thomas has a hard time accepting Miranda’s death, so to cope with his thoughts and feelings he writes her letters.

A little bit of context first:

Some years after the end of the war, Flint and Silver stumble upon each other by chance. Silver latches onto Flint - he doesn’t have anywhere to go or anything left to lose, after all - and follows him back to Flint’s and Thomas’ house. Silver stays with them - I don’t know if James or Thomas invites him or if Silver just decides not to leave. Thomas is curious about Silver, and his past with James. James mostly ignores Silver, is cold and distant to him.

Life hasn’t been easy for Thomas and James since they left the plantation. Their relationship is fragile, both their characters are changed and damaged. They live in a small house in a remote place, surrounded by trees, and James is happy there but Thomas desperately wants to return to society, to move closer to town and feel like he is at the center of the world again. Thomas writes to Miranda:

My dearest love,

Every day I miss you more than the day before, and I feel your absence especially now, with what is going on in this house. We have been working so hard to achieve some sort of peace between the two of us, James and I, but ever since he came back with that man… Everything feels off-balance.

He steals, he lies, he thieves. He is completely devoid of morals or ideals. He is utterly selfish. I do not trust him – how could I, after everything he did to James?

You would have liked him, I am convinced. You would have known how to handle him. I am trying the best I can, but the years have eroded any sense of patience I ever had, and I find it all too easy to lash out at him, to make harsh and bitter comments about what he did to James. Do not be mistaken – do not think I am bullying him. I assure you that Mr Silver is not soft, and he strikes back at me with equal vigour.

It does not seem like he will be leaving any time soon, so I will tolerate him, for James. I have hope for us, that we will find a new balance between the two of us, no matter how long it will take. I love him so dearly, even after so long, even after all the years we forcibly spent apart. His return to me is a gift from the Gods that I will cherish, and will not easily let go.

As I am writing this, I can imagine clearly how you would laugh at me, your soft-hearted, hard-headed husband, making things more difficult for himself than they need be. Oh, how I wish you were here to tell me.

Yours, as always,

Thomas.

Thomas has a job in town, at a newspaper or something like that, while James stays at the house and works in their garden most of the time. Silver has been living with them for a while now, and has started to tell James parts of his past. James is wary at first, but slowly relaxes around Silver.

Dear Miranda,

A man who feels confident of himself, who appreciates what he has, will not long for things he cannot possess. Jealousy is a weakness, and I am a weak man – more so than I have ever known myself to be. I am embarrassed to admit it, but I recognise it and it is true. I am jealous of Mr Silver. The way he and James interact… They move so naturally together, even in their arguments and banter. They click, they fit, while everything between James and me has been difficult and painful. We are still locating each other’s sores, find ourselves pushing too hard in places where it hurts, without meaning harm.

He knows James in ways that I never will. He has seen James in ways that I never will. He understands James in ways that I never will.

And yet, I cannot bring myself to hate him. He makes it so difficult when it should be so easy. A couple of days ago, I came home and tried to pull off my scarf but it had somehow formed a knot that I could not untangle and things at the paper had not been running smoothly as they should that day and this was the drop that made the bucket overflow. I pulled and pulled and pulled at the scarf which of course only made the knot tighter – you should have seen me: pure frustration and rage, all pointed at an inanimate object. I would have surely strangled myself and suffocated if not for Mr Silver. He saw my struggle – and feeling his eyes on me only made things worse – but he came up to me and put his hands over my fumbling fingers, and he looked at me with those deep blue eyes, that strangely kind and gentle face… It was so unexpected. He could have laughed at me, teased me for being such a fool. Everything became too much and to my embarrassment I started crying. I felt so helpless and I couldn’t even take my anger out on Mr Silver because he was being uncharacteristically nice to me. I could not be so mean.

I stood there, sobbing, while he told me a story about his family, something about how his mother used to be inconsolable while his sister was the easiest thing to cheer up and make forget her sorrows, a story of which I cannot remember the point right now but it does not matter because it was obviously something he made up for whatever purpose – to soften me, to knead me, I do not know.

I do not know how much longer I can take this.

A lot of things happen between this letter and the last - Silver being completely open about his past to Flint, Silver and Flint finally finding out that they love each other and giving in to their feelings, Thomas giving Silver’s beard a trim after which they share a careful first kiss between them, and eventual OT3 happiness.

My dearest Miranda,

There was a time when I could make sense of the world, or at least I thought I could. Everything has changed. I do not see much sense anymore, in the things that fate puts on our path, in the things people do to each other, in the things I feel.

This realisation had me lost and adrift for a while, but I am slowly learning to appreciate that this strange world of ours can bring forth the strangest of coincidences, the most unexpected moments of luck. Of happiness.

I was unhappy in this house, living so far away from society, but I understood how much James needed this, the sense of peace and simplicity that this place brought him, so I stayed here with him until I could not bear it anymore. You know how he is – so eager to please the ones he loves. The moment he learnt of my unhappiness in this place, he promptly decided that we would move, no matter his own feelings. I felt guilty, and relieved, and then even more guilty. I do not know where we will eventually come to live, but for now it does not matter, because we are leaving this place to travel to the Continent, per John’s request. Yes, John, of all people, seems to have brought up the solution to our housing problem for now. Apparently, he spent parts of his youth in places in the Dutch Republic and England, and he wishes to go back to these places. James has decided to go with him, and I am definitely not staying behind, so here we are – packing our bags for a grand voyage across the ocean.

I still miss you so very much. I still feel like you could walk through the door any moment, in a brightly-coloured dress and with a warm smile on your face. With each day that goes by, your loss becomes a little more bearable. Perhaps the thought that helps is that James and I are happy, and that this makes you happy too, wherever you may be.

And, well. I am starting to believe that John could have an indispensable part in our happiness. He still annoys me as much as the first day I met him, but I see how much James loves him and… Miranda, please do not tell anyone but I might be starting to love him too.

I do not know when I will be able to write to you again. Until then, I am sending you lots of love and an infinite number of kisses,

Thomas.

I know it’s dumb because I wrote all of this myself but every time I read Thomas’ letters I start crying sldkfjdsklsdlkf

tagging @olga-eulalia @husbandpirates @bisexualpirateheart @queerpyrate @crucifythenburn ?? sorry if you’ve already done this and don’t feel pressured if you haven’t ofc!!

#silverflinthamilton #black sails fic #black sails fanfic #thomas hamilton #sjuul writes fic #tag game #tagged #my fic

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