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Sapphire Shores (Brienne Of Tarth x OC)

Summary: Adjusting to her new life on the Sapphire Isle, Luciya heads for the water. Brienne eventually follows, allowing herself a modicum of vulnerability with Luciya.

Word Count: 1,291

Warnings: Angst and Fluff, Arranged Marriage, Post Canon, Brienne Is The Evenstar/Lord Of Tarth

Luciya had spent many a day and night watching waves lap at the shore in Dorne. Whether the ocean was calm and gentle or whether storms were brewing off in the distance, causing the water to crash violently up against the rocks and sand, Luciya was there, watching the tides. Sometimes she let the water reflect her emotions; other times she only observed. The water was a comfort, a friend, and now, the one thing that was still familiar to her.

She harbored no ill feelings towards Brienne, nor her brother, nor anyone, really. There were far worse hands she could have been dealt in this life, but the sense of change, of newness, disarmed her more than she expected. They set sail from Sunspear and traversed the Sea of Dorne, where Luciya had enjoyed the soothing sensation of the familiar waters, taking in the sea air as if she was born to it, which she supposed, in a way, she was.

However, when their vessel reached Shipbreaker Bay, Luciya's unease set in with the shift of the current. It seemed there was a very good reason for the name of the bay, as storms in this part of the ocean were told to be quite formidable. She had no reason to deny such claims now. Choppy waves crashed against the side of the ship, jostling it but not steering it off course. For this, Luciya was grateful. What it meant to her in the moment was nothing, but after the trip, she’d come to think of it as a sign of the future, or what she hoped it could be.

She was met by Brienne coming down to the shore, wearing that same armor that she never seemed to shed, despite a battle being nowhere nearby. "How was your journey, my lady," Brienne asked after her, her deep voice reaching her ear from quite a distance.

"It wasn’t unbearable," Luciya responded. She did not want Brienne to feel badly about the rough seas. She suspected she might anyway. "Most of it was quite pleasant, in fact. We encountered only a bit of unsteady waters in the bay. Nothing I couldn’t handle."

Luciya was pleased to get her foot on the sand and leave the deep blue waters behind her for the moment. She met Brienne where the sand changed to grass and Brienne offered her a hand. "Let me take you to Evenfall Hall and see that you get settled." Brienne appeared stiff and overly formal, but Luciya played along, providing her with a smile as she accepted her hand to be led into the village. It was but a short walk into the village, where their horses awaited to take them to Evenfall Hall.

The tense quiet between them unnerved Luciya, but at the same time, she did not wish to force Brienne into speaking with her. This had to be quite the change for her, as it was for Luciya herself. And while Luciya was far too social for her own good —her brother's words— Brienne, she suspected was almost the exact opposite. Luciya would do her best to let Brienne open up to her in time. For now, she would simply have to endure her silence.

Evenfall Hall was truly far more magnificent than she had imagined it to be, and much larger as well. She may have to take quite some time to learn how to navigate it on her own. Brienne pointed out some of the portraits and secrets to finding her way through the castle, but did not speak more than she must have deemed necessary. Luciya always responded politely, though she did not know if it put Brienne any more at ease.

"And this, should you find that it suits you, shall be your chambers. I seem to recall you saying you liked the sea and this is the room with the best view of it from the balcony. I hope you’ll be comfortable. Should you decide it is not to your liking—"

Luciya could not take it any longer and found herself interrupting Brienne. "I think I shall like it quite well. I do love a view of the sea. It was wonderful of you to remember."

Brienne nodded and bowed out of the room, allowing Luciya to really take it all in. The view was impressive, on that point she could not argue. The room itself was obviously well prepared for her, even decorated with a sun motif in mind to remind her of her home in Sunspear. But was this not to be a marriage? That is what was agreed upon, no matter how unconventional a match it might have been. Was she not to share Brienne's bed at all? With a shake of her head, Luciya dismissed her concerns for now, deciding to make the best of whatever would come of this arrangement.

Hours had passed and Luciya tired of exploring the drafty castle. She’d gotten herself lost more times than she could count and sought the fresh air of the sea to salt her lungs. She finally crossed paths with a servant, of which there was a surprising scant few, and told them that she wished to ride back to the dock to enjoy the ocean before the sun set.

"My lady, are you certain? Can you find your way there and back?"

She was touched by the concern, but she felt she could manage the journey, so long as she could escape the walls of Evenfall Hall. "If you point me outdoors, then I am sure I can manage from there."

So back to the water she went. She was alone on the shore, so she slipped off her shoes, and let her aqua gown flutter in the breeze as she rested her chin on folded arms and bent knees. The sun had just begun to set when another body joined her, sitting to her right. It took Luciya a moment to realize it was Brienne, as she no longer donned her ever present armor. She had ditched the metallic finery for a simple blue tunic and brown breeches. Luciya almost felt as if she were seeing something she shouldn’t.

Brienne took off her modest shoes and sat them to the side like Luciya had done, seemingly content to sit beside Luciya in yet another silence. Considering she’d made the step to join her, perhaps it was Luciya's turn to breach their divide with a little light conversation. "Do not think I am unhappy here," she began, painfully aware that keeping the conversation light was a goal already abandoned on her first utterance. "I am neither happy nor unhappy. I am only adjusting to all of this. Are you not as well?"

Brienne took a moment to consider her reply. "I suppose I am. I do not wish you to be tied here against your will, either to me or Tarth. I—" Brienne began, but the words she was searching for hadn’t quite formed clearly in her mind, so Luciya waited. "I guess I don’t know what you expect from this match, this…arrangement or whatever we are to call it. I’m not sure I know what to expect of myself from it either."

"As far as I know, a betrothal —a marriage— has never been done quite like this, so perhaps we are to forego some of the expectations and forge our own path," Luciya offered. The small, hesitant smile from Brienne lifted Luciya's spirits. It was apparent that neither of them wanted to make the other miserable, and so, while certain traditions must still be observed, they would decide the pace of their own marriage and what it truly meant for them in due time.

Also Read On AO3

Forever Tag: @arrthurpendragon, @borg-queer, @foxesandmagic, @carmens-garden, @chickensarentcheap, @endless-oc-creations, @unheolycs-ocs, @fawera, @themaradaniels

Luciya Martell: @imagines4thepeeps, @zalera8310, @gay-and-sad-tm, @theroguedragon, @dumbnojutsu, @jkthighs, @brienneseveruscalaway, @sitkafay, @freshmoneyalmondathlete, @dollvi3e

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April Movie Wrap Up

Bent: 7/10. Look, I knew this wasn’t likely of getting a happy ending, but boy was that depressing. It started off so nice with a beautiful vintage queer club and then things took such a turn for the worst. Important movie to watch, but it hurts like hell. A bit slow in parts, but such a powerful and heartbreaking story.

Blow Dry: 8/10. We started strong with the promise of lesbian Natasha Richardson (which was lovely, even if it was only a couple of kisses), and the movie itself wasn’t flawless, but for the early 2000s I was more impressed than I thought I’d be. It could have stood to be a little longer (which I literally never say 😝), to flesh out the plot a bit more thoroughly, but it was entertaining to watch nonetheless.

House Of 1000 Corpses: 6/10. There were some stylistic choices that didn’t flow well in my opinion, but aside from those, it was a pretty decent movie. Weird af, a half assed plot perhaps, but nonetheless strangely compelling.

Killer Drag Queens On Dope: 2/10. I wasn’t expecting this to be great, but wow, it was so poorly made I couldn’t get through it. I wanted to like it, but the acting wasn’t great, and the video quality made me feel like I was going blind. It seemed to have a decent story, based on what I got through, but ultimately, probably not worth it.

Made In Dagenham: 5/10. For a period piece that’s all about “sticking it to the man”, it was woefully boring to watch. It has an important message, but the way it was delivered was just slow, and you couldn’t really root for or care much about the characters.

Only Lovers Left Alive: 2/10. If you want to watch a movie about two boring, depressing centuries old vampires listening to music, then by all means, this one may be for you, but as far as I’m concerned, nothing at all happens, and you should save yourself two hours.

The Lobster: 7/10. Look, most of it was interesting. Didn’t really love most of the cast, but the story seemed to be going somewhere. But that fucking ending, or lack of ending, really. If you hate unsatisfying ambiguous endings, then do yourself a favor and skip this.

Torn Hearts: 9/10. Essentially a country music twist on What Ever Happened To Baby Jane? but you have Katey Sagal in stunning wardrobe and playing a psychopath. I mean, you really can’t go wrong. Plot wasn’t flawless, but for me at least, it didn’t need to be.

Unfrosted: 7/10. Was it ridiculous? Yes. Was it stupid? Yes. Did I like it? Also weirdly yes. It’s indescribable. It’s the most unserious movie you can imagine. If you’re into watching movies while high, this is probably a good choice for that.

Your Monster: 4/10. Literally just average. Kinda boring. Lost a point for making me endure musicals and Shakespeare. Wish it had been a true monster/human romance and not a half assed fever dream of a woman finding her voice. Felt lazy.

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Imagine confessing to Father Mulcahy that you’ve fallen in love with him.

You found him in the chapel, as always. His hands were clasped, his eyes lifted slightly, not to the ceiling, but somewhere beyond it. You hesitated at the doorway, heart pounding like a drum too big for your chest. This was madness. Tender, aching madness.

He looked up at the sound of your footsteps. “Oh,” he said, smiling gently. “I hardly heard you come in.”

You nodded, unsure what to do with your hands. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just…I needed to talk to you.”

“Of course.” He rose, a look of concern crossing his face, but his ever tender smile remained. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” You let out a shaky breath. “I’ve been trying to tell myself it would pass. That it’s just the pressure of this place. But I can’t lie about it anymore.”

His smile faded, brows drawing together. “What is it?”

You stepped closer, your voice low. “I’ve fallen in love with you, Father.”

He blinked at you. Once. Twice. His lips parted to speak, but no words came.

“I know what you are. I know what your vows mean. I know this is— it’s not supposed to happen.” You swallowed. “But it did. I’m not asking anything of you. I just couldn’t keep it inside anymore.”

He was quiet for a long moment, eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then he exhaled, slowly, and took a step toward you. “You’ve shown me great kindness here,” he said softly. “And light, in a place that often feels very dark.”

You shook your head, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to make things difficult.”

“No.” He reached out, hesitant but firm, his fingers brushing yours. “You’ve reminded me that I’m human. That I can feel, sometimes quite deeply. And that’s not a sin.”

You looked up into his eyes, so full of gentleness it made your heart ache.

He leaned in, slowly. You didn’t move. You couldn’t. When his lips met yours, it was like a prayer. Soft, reverent, full of trembling grace. And in that quiet chapel, with only God and the moonlight to witness it, you kissed him back.

For @crimesolvin and Anon

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @trexsuit, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @sparrowspixie, @imaginationismyworldlypleasure, @og-kxsh-420

Francis Mulcahy: @callsigncrash, @dictatorwholock, @edgessunflower, @neapolitantoebeans, @mramirez1222, @multifandomlover01, @i-your-friendly-neighborhood-emo, @locke-writes, @magpie6322, @lemonflavoredsock, @booksabound1991

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Being A Vampire And Falling In Love With Stevie Nicks

You first saw her onstage in the 70s, entranced not just by her voice but the aura, something in her felt ancient, familiar, like stardust wrapped in silk.

You kept your distance for decades, always in the crowd, always in the shadows, watching her grow older while you stayed the same.

She noticed you eventually, always in the same place, always with the same eyes, and she wasn’t afraid. She said you felt like déjà vu.

You told her the truth one night after a show, expecting her to run. Instead, she asked you to dance in the moonlight with her.

She writes songs about you, coded, veiled, but full of dark imagery, longing and centuries of ache.

You feed only when you must, and never from her. But she offers once, her voice low and serious, just in case you’re ever desperate.

She ages, and you don’t. She jokes about it sometimes, but there’s a quiet sadness behind her eyes when she catches her reflection next to yours.

You collect trinkets from her tours—worn shawls, broken tambourines, forgotten tea cups—and keep them in a velvet lined chest like holy relics.

Sometimes, she swears she dreams of your past lives together. Different names, different centuries. But always the same love.

When she finally asks you to turn her, it’s not out of fear of death, but a desire to keep creating songs with you forever.

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @trexsuit, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @sparrowspixie, @imaginationismyworldlypleasure, @og-kxsh-420

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Did you hear the sad news about the actor who plays Mark Sloan? 😢

I hadn’t, but naturally as soon as I saw this ask I looked it up. Very sad. Wishing him the best with his ALS diagnosis.

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Happy Accidents — Tom Koracick

Summary: You come into Grey Sloan after a minor car accident. Your doctors want to give you an X-ray, but you refuse. Then word makes its way to Tom.

Word Count: 1,103

Tags: Pregnancy reveal, a little angst, fluff

You could already feel the headache brewing before the ambulance doors opened. The accident had been minor—a fender bender at best—but protocol dictated that you be brought in anyway. A few spots there were sure to turn into bruises, a small cut on your brow, and what felt like a pulled muscle in your shoulder. But as the gurney rolled into the emergency department at Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital, all you could think was not the X-ray. Anything but the X-ray.

A nurse tried to reassure you as you were guided into Trauma 2. You smiled weakly, trying to keep your voice calm.

“I don’t need an X-ray,” you said quickly. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve got shoulder pain, and you hit your head on the dash,” the trauma resident replied. “We just want to rule out a fracture or internal bleeding.”

“I said I’m fine,” you repeated, more firmly this time.

“Ma’am, refusing scans goes against protocol.”

“Well, I’m not exactly in the mood to follow protocol,” you snapped, and immediately regretted it. You weren’t normally like this. But the past week had turned your entire world sideways, and your nerves were hanging by threads.

You turned your head slightly, catching a glimpse of Dr. Bailey and Dr. Hunt outside the curtain. You didn’t see him. Not yet. But it was only a matter of time.

And sure enough, just as the nurse was preparing the portable X-ray unit, a familiar voice cut through the bustle like a scalpel.

“Why is my girlfriend refusing a simple X-ray?”

You closed your eyes. Damn it. Tom must have been called on your way in the ambulance, though you insisted it wasn’t necessary, now here he came barreling in, incensed that he wasn’t being told everything. You were so used to that cocky swagger by now that you could practically smell it in the air before he even walked in.

You opened your eyes as he pushed past the curtain. His expression showed both concern and exasperation. “I heard you were in a car accident,” he said, striding up to your bedside. “And then I hear you’re refusing imaging like some conspiracy theorist. What is this, a hospital or an episode of House?”

“I’m fine,” you muttered.

Tom crossed his arms. “You’re bleeding from your head, grimacing every time you move your shoulder, and you look like you’re hiding something. That’s not ‘fine.’ That’s ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ which—spoiler alert—only makes me more nosy.”

You sat up, wincing. “Can we talk alone?”

The trauma resident looked to Tom, who nodded. The room cleared out quickly. He softened once the door was shut, brushing your hair gently back from your forehead.

“You gotta give me something, you’re scaring the hell out of me,” he said, his voice dropping to something low and real. “What’s going on?”

You looked at him. Really looked at him. God, he had no idea.

You should’ve told him last week, when the test first came back positive. But every time you opened your mouth, the words jammed in your throat like cotton. Tom Koracick wasn’t exactly father material. Hell, he’d spent the better part of your relationship proudly swearing off domestic bliss and PTA meetings.

But he had also been…different with you. Softer. Sweeter. Real. And now you were staring up at him from a trauma bay bed with your little secret sitting like a rock in your gut.

“I can’t do the X-ray,” you said.

He nodded slowly. “Okay. But why?”

You hesitated.

“Because…because I’m pregnant.”

The words hung between you like smoke.

Tom blinked.

“Come again?”

You laughed but it came out all nervous and shaky. “I’m pregnant. I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure, and I guess now the universe decided to out me in the most dramatic way possible.”

Tom stared, stunned silent.

You tried to fill the space. “I was going to tell you, I swear. I just—I didn’t know how you’d react. And then this happened and I—”

“Wait,” he said, holding up a hand. “Back up. Pregnant. As in…we’re having a baby?”

You nodded, heart in your throat. He slowly sank into the chair beside you.

“Holy crap,” he murmured. “I thought you were hiding a DUI or an affair or something.”

You snorted. “Seriously?”

“Well, how was I to know? You are incredibly pretty. And stubborn. And… apparently pregnant.” He looked at you again, really looked, and the shock slowly began to melt into something else. Something almost awed.

“I never thought I’d get to do this again,” he said softly.

You tilted your head. “Do what?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. “I lost David before I ever got to be the dad I wanted to be,” he said. “I shut that part of my brain off a long time ago. Thought it was safer that way. But now…” You saw his eyes go glassy, just for a moment. “I get another shot,” he whispered.

Your own eyes welled up unexpectedly.

“So you aren’t mad,” you asked, your voice small.

“Mad? No. Terrified? Yes. But also…happy.”

You laughed again, letting out a breath of relief. “God, I really thought you’d bolt.”

Tom leaned forward and kissed your knuckles. “I may be a snarky bastard, but I’m not a coward.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

He smirked. “You’re cranky. That’s new.”

“I just got into a car accident and told my boyfriend I’m pregnant. Cut me some slack.”

He placed a hand gently over your stomach. “Hey, kiddo,” he murmured. “It’s your dad. Sorry in advance for all the sarcasm you’re going to grow up hearing.”

You smiled despite the tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.

“I’m scared too,” you admitted. “But I think we can do this.”

Tom kissed your temple, his voice a soft rumble beside your ear.

“We’re gonna crush this. You, me, and the tiny bean.”

“Bean,” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Working title,” he said with a grin. “I’ll come up with something more dignified once we know if it has your stubbornness or my charm.”

You rolled your eyes. “God help us if it has both.”

“Now, get the damn X-ray. It’s only your shoulder. It’ll be fine.” You nodded, tuning in to the outside of your little trauma room. The bustle of the hospital carried on, pages, footsteps, the occasional shout. But inside the closed off area, time had narrowed to the two of you. And the tiny, still secret heartbeat growing between you.

For @ghostsunderstoodmysoul

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @trexsuit, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @sparrowspixie, @imaginationismyworldlypleasure, @og-kxsh-420

Tom Koracick: @thekirbishow, @astrogrande

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What They’re Like When They’re Turned On (True Blood Preference)

Arlene Fowler: Gets flustered and sassy. She’ll pretend she’s offended or too busy, but her body language tells the truth, biting her lip, crossing and uncrossing her legs, a little more lipstick than usual. She’s a sucker for rough hands and sweet talk.

Bill Compton: Old school romantic even when aroused. He becomes intense, voice lower, slower. Expect heavy eye contact, light touches that linger too long, and a calm control that turns feral if fully provoked.

Eric Northman: Commanding and unapologetic. When he’s turned on, you know. The smirk deepens, he invades personal space, voice turns silk-smooth and threatening. He’ll toy with you, test your reactions, and enjoy every second of the chase and the surrender.

Ginger: Absolutely unhinged and unfiltered. She’s breathy, shaky, and can’t keep her voice down. Handsy, eager, completely in the moment. Zero chill, 100% ready to combust at the slightest touch.

Jessica Hamby: Her emotions and urges come fast and hot. She gets bold when aroused, playful but needy. A bundle of pent up lust and longing.

Maryann Forrester: All sensuality and decadence. When aroused, her energy becomes magnetic and almost hypnotic. She’ll draw you in with looks, touches, food, or dance. There’s always something primal and ancient in the way she desires, like pleasure is worship.

Pam Swynford De Beaufort: When she’s turned on, her wit gets sharper and her patience shorter. She’ll size you up like a snack, and the moment she’s sure you want it, she’ll dominate the situation.

Rosalyn Harris: Confident, commanding, and sultry. She doesn’t chase, she summons. When aroused, her touch lingers, and her smile turns wicked. She’s experienced and knows exactly what pressure points to exploit.

Russell Edgington: Turned on for Russell means unfiltered indulgence. He’s all appetite and drama, one minute charming, the next wild. He enjoys the fear, the surrender, the power exchange. It’s carnal, but with a dangerous edge.

Sarah Newlin: Repressed and frantic. When she’s aroused, it comes out sideways, righteous anger, breathless giggles, inappropriate monologues. Being turned on is almost taboo, and she thrives in denial and drama.

For anon

[multifandomfix]

Imagine Rebecca trying to deny her crush on you.

You were everywhere lately. In her office with your cheeky smirk. At team events, chatting up the players, making Keeley laugh so hard she wheezed. Even in the bloody hallway, leaning against the wall like you owned it, always saying, “Morning, boss,” with that infuriating wink.

Rebecca Welton didn’t get flustered. She didn’t blush, for god’s sake. And yet, every time you leaned a bit too close or touched her arm when you laughed, something in her skipped. It wasn’t attraction. No. It was irritation. A low level, persistent aggravation that made her chest feel tight.

“You’re so annoying,” she muttered one evening after you’d left her office, grinning over your shoulder as if you knew something. “Always with the winking. Who even winks anymore?”

She went about her day telling herself she couldn’t stand you. Told Keeley, “That one’s full of themselves,” only for Keeley to reply with a casual, “You’ve got it bad.”

Rebecca scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. They’re infuriating.”

But then one afternoon, she caught herself staring. You were across the room, laughing with Ted and Roy, sun catching in your hair, face lit up in that way that made something warm crawl into her throat. And it hit her with a sickening kind of clarity: she didn’t hate you. She liked you. Far too much.

“Oh, bollocks,” she whispered to herself, horrified. “Keeley was right. I do have a crush.”

You, with your swagger and charm and ridiculous grin. You, who made her laugh when she didn’t want to. You, who made her forget to breathe when you said her name too softly.

She leaned back in her chair, covered her face with both hands, and groaned.

You were going to be insufferable when you found out.

For @ghostsunderstoodmysoul

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @trexsuit, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @sparrowspixie, @imaginationismyworldlypleasure, @og-kxsh-420

[multifandomfix]

Being A Runaway Princess Who Falls In Love With Killian Jones Would Include

You ran away from an arranged marriage, stealing away under the cover of night in a cloak.

Killian first encounters you trying to barter a jeweled ring for passage on a ship, clearly out of place among commoners.

He knows right away you’re not just some girl. The way you hold your chin, the way you speak, it screams royalty. But he doesn’t out you. Not yet.

He agrees to help you, at first for a price, of course. But something in your desperation and bravery reminds him of the person he used to be before the darkness took over.

You trade sarcastic jabs, stubborn glares, and reluctant trust until it turns into something softer.

Killian teaches you how to handle a sword, which is an immensely frustrating task for him.

You call him “Captain Know-It-All” and he grins every time.

One night, you confess your fear that you’ll never be more than a girl running from her destiny. He cups your cheek and says, “Then we’ll write you a new one.”

He becomes fiercely protective of you, threatening anyone who even looks at you wrong.

The first time someone calls you “Princess” in a sneering tone, he’s got his sword out faster than you can blink.

Your first kiss is on the deck during a storm. Rain-soaked and breathless, you’re shouting at each other, and then you’re kissing like your lives depend on it.

He says, “You make me want to be a better man,” and you say, “Then be that man with me.”

Word spreads: the missing princess is sailing with the infamous Captain Hook. Bounty hunters come for you both, forcing you to rely on each other more than ever.

When your kingdom sends soldiers to retrieve you, he offers to take you anywhere in the world, to leave it all behind.

For anon

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @trexsuit, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @sparrowspixie, @imaginationismyworldlypleasure, @og-kxsh-420

Killian Jones: @jadehowlettthewolf, @thisismelayla, @iciclesandsnow, @geekyandgay98, @yetanotherattemptatanaccount, @lady-darkswan3, @myfriendtuvok, @axel-barnes

[multifandomfix]

More Than Servitude — Queen Charlotte

Summary: You’ve been fulfilling your duty to Queen Charlotte for some time now, and she’s grown fond of you. Only her fondness surpasses what she should feel for a servant.

Word Count: 1,103

Tags: Angst, fluff, implied smut

Your duties began before the sun did. Silken slippers in their place. Tea precisely how she liked it, light, fragrant, never scalding. Jewelry and gowns arranged according to her moods, which you had learned to anticipate better than the rest of the staff.

You had been selected to assist Queen Charlotte directly nearly a year ago, and since then, you had moved about her chambers with quiet grace and perfect memory. Some mistook it for obedience. It was, in fact, affection.

Not that you’d ever dared admit such a thing. You knew your place. You were a maid, and she, the Queen of England. But she had taken to looking at you in a way that made your spine prickle. Her gaze lingered too long. Her voice sometimes softened when she said your name. And then, of course, there were the touches.

At first, they were merely fleeting. Her hand grazing yours when you handed her a hairpin. Your fingers brushing the nape of her neck when you helped her into a gown. Accidents. Surely. But then they became more intentional.

“Stay a moment,” she’d said one evening, when you’d finished drawing her bath. You turned from the basin, drying your hands on your apron, heart thudding. She was lounging in her bath, a thin veil of steam clinging to her skin.

“My Queen?”

Her eyes flicked up. “Do you enjoy working here? In the palace?”

You nodded slowly, unsure if it was a test. “I do, Your Majesty.”

“I imagine it’s tiresome,” she said with a sigh, sinking deeper into the water. “Always tending to others. Never having anyone tend to you.”

You swallowed. “It is my duty, Your Majesty.”

“And yet duty doesn’t ease loneliness, does it,” she murmured, not quite looking at you.

You didn’t answer. You weren’t sure you could.

That night, you lay awake in your chamber, every part of you alive and aching. It was foolish, dangerous, even, to let yourself believe she saw you as anything more than a useful pair of hands. And yet…

The next few weeks passed in a careful dance. The Queen’s touches became more frequent, no longer able to explain away as accidents or coincidence. Her fingers reaching up to brush your jaw when you adjusted her collar, her palm resting against your lower back as you guided her through a corridor. It became a language spoken only between the two of you, one too fragile to name aloud.

One rainy afternoon, she had refused her usual company. She waved away Lady Danbury, dismissed the rest of the staff, and asked only for you.

“Come,” she beckoned, seated at her writing desk. Her clothing was still dappled with raindrops from the morning's walk about the grounds. “Sit with me.”

You hesitated. “Your Majesty, I should—”

“I’m not asking you to serve me,” she interrupted, voice low. “I’m asking you to sit.”

You did.

She poured tea with her own hands, something nearly unheard of, and handed you a cup. “Tell me something true,” she said.

Your fingers curled around the porcelain cup that was offered to you. “I’ve never met someone who carries such loneliness with so much grace.”

She stilled, her eyes fixing on you. “And you? Do you carry yours well?”

You met her gaze. “I try.”

The silence was weighted, fragile and rich. Then, her hand reached across the desk, fingers brushing yours. Neither of you pulled away.

It was a late night in early spring when it happened. The Queen stood before her vanity, her gown half undone. You were behind her, fingers carefully unhooking the last of her stays. Your hands brushed against her bare shoulders, warm and soft beneath your touch.

“You are always so careful,” she murmured, voice a breath in the dim candlelight.

“I do not wish to hurt you.”

She hesitated a moment, as if the reason for your gentleness hadn’t occurred to her. “I wish you would touch me without worry,” she said at last. “Not as a servant. But as someone who…wishes to.”

You froze.

And then, your queen having made her intentions clear, you allowed your fingers to slide down her arms, slow, reverent. After a moment, she turned to face you, her bodice loosely falling around her waist, exposing the curve of her neck, the softness of her collarbone. Her eyes searched yours, dark and deep and impossibly vulnerable.

“I should not be here with you like…this,” you whispered.

“And yet here you are,” she replied softly, soothingly. And as she said those words, she took your hand. She drew it to her chest, laid it gently against her heart. You could feel the thunder of it.

“Say something,” she whispered. “Tell me this isn’t just me.”

“It isn’t just you,” you said, nearly breathless. “It’s never been just you.”

Her lips parted, and for a moment you thought she might speak, but instead, she leaned forward.

The kiss was soft at first, trembling, tentative. You’d never been kissed like this before. She kissed you as if she were starved for it. Her fingers curled around your waist, holding you close as if you might vanish.

You sank into her. The world outside her chambers faded, the palace, the rules, the risk. There was only the taste of her lips and the way she clutched at your dress like it grounded her. When you finally parted, she kept her forehead pressed to yours.

“Tomorrow,” she said quietly, “everything must return to the way it was. I must rule. You must serve.”

You nodded, though your heart twisted.

“But tonight,” she said, brushing your cheek with her thumb, “you are simply mine.”

And for one stolen night, you were.

The next morning, the palace awakened with its usual urgency. Footsteps echoed in the halls. Voices called orders. The world resumed. But something lingered.

She didn’t touch you that day. Didn’t look at you longer than practicality allowed. What had transpired between you the night before was a secret. A dangerous, beautiful one, but it was real.

And though no one else could know, you would rise before dawn every day with a heart full of something more than duty. Because when the Queen looked at you now, it was not as a subject. Not as a maid. But as someone she had chosen. Someone she wished to keep. And though she could only selectively choose when you would be allowed into her arms, into her bed, you knew one day you’d have it all again, and that was enough to stave off the loneliness you felt before.

For 🦎 Anon

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @icetown587, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @devotedlyscentedtocomedians, @lakita-fisher

Queen Charlotte: @ladyrooster39, @esposamultifandom, @littlsstuff, @freyathehuntress, @m-rae23, @floresferae, @onlinecemetery, @yourstruelyxo, @edit-me-prettyplease

[multifandomfix]

They Find Out They’re Your First (RHONY Preference)

Jill Zarin: When you first tell Jill that she’s your first, she’ll laugh, but only because she thinks you can’t possibly be serious. When she realizes you are serious, the laughter stops, and apologizes profusely. She promises to make it up to you and gives you a night you won’t ever forget.

LuAnn De Lesseps: When you confess to LuAnn that she’s your first, she’s definitely surprised, but it doesn’t deter her in any way. She’s completely unbothered by it. “Okay, so maybe I’m your first, but regardless what comes after, I’m always going to be the best you’ve ever had.”

Ramona Singer: Ramona’s flattered when you tell her that she’s your first. She’s eager to teach you and show you a good time, and really, truly honored that you chose her to give yourself to.

Sonja Morgan: Sonja will be in utter disbelief. Once she gets over the shock of it, though, she’s not exactly turned off by it. “Well now I can teach you how to do it the right way.” And despite her being your first, she’s not about to take it easy on you.

For Anon

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @trexsuit, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @sparrowspixie, @imaginationismyworldlypleasure, @og-kxsh-420

[multifandomfix]

Imagine never leaving Tom’s bedside while he recovers from Covid.

Tom had never been the sentimental type, but as he lay in the hospital bed, weak and exhausted, he couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through his chest whenever he opened his eyes and saw you there. Always there.

The beeping of the monitors, the steady hum of oxygen, those were constants. But so were you. Sitting in the stiff hospital chair, curled up in the corner, or holding his hand when he was too out of it to do more than squeeze back.

“Everyone is dying, you should go home,” he rasped, his voice rough from the oxygen cannula.

You shook your head, your fingers tightening around his. “Not a chance, Tom.”

He smirked, or at least tried to. “I’m not so charming that you should risk your life for me.”

“Debatable,” you teased, but your eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Tom hated seeing you like this, worried, exhausted, stretched too thin. But he also knew that no amount of convincing would make you leave his side. So he stopped trying.

Instead, he let himself drift off to sleep knowing that when he woke up, you’d still be there.

For @ghostsunderstoodmysoul

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @trexsuit, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @sparrowspixie, @imaginationismyworldlypleasure, @og-kxsh-420

Tom Koracick: @thekirbishow, @astrogrande

[multifandomfix]

Little Things That Francis Mulcahy Would Do To Show He Loves You

Leaving handwritten notes – Whether it’s a Bible verse that reminded him of you (ask him to explain it and he’ll talk your ear off), a kind word of encouragement, or just a simple “Thinking of you,” he tucks them into places you’ll find them throughout the day.

Remembering the smallest details – He listens intently and never forgets what you say. If you casually mention your favorite hymn/song, dessert, or childhood memory, he’ll find a way to incorporate it into a sermon, meal, or conversation later on.

Offering silent support – He knows when words aren’t needed. Instead, he’ll just be there—holding your hand, offering a comforting squeeze on the shoulder, or simply sitting with you in companionable silence when you need it.

Fixing things for you – Even if he isn’t the handiest, he’ll try his best to mend your favorite sweater, repair a broken clasp on a necklace, or sew a loose button, always wanting to take care of the little things that matter to you.

Making sure you eat – While the mess tent offers no gourmet meals, he always wants to be sure you’re taking care of yourself. He’ll even have Radar or Klinger help him get ahold of some of your favorites when he can.

Offering prayers just for you – Even if he doesn’t say it aloud, he includes you in his personal prayers every night, asking for your happiness, safety, and peace.

Finding excuses to spend time with you – Whether it’s asking for your help with a church service, inviting you to go on a walk, or just sitting with you while he writes letters, he always makes time for you in the most natural, unassuming ways.

Blushing when complimented – He’s humble, so if you ever tell him how much you appreciate his kindness, he’ll get adorably flustered, brushing it off with a soft chuckle but absolutely glowing inside.

Giving you his coat when it’s cold – No matter how chilly it is, he’d rather you be warm, so he’ll wrap his own coat or scarf around you without a second thought.

Making you feel truly valued – Through all these small acts, he constantly reassures you that you are special to him, and his love—whether romantic or deeply platonic—is unwavering, gentle, and sincere.

For anon

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @trexsuit, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @sparrowspixie, @imaginationismyworldlypleasure, @og-kxsh-420

Francis Mulcahy: @callsigncrash, @dictatorwholock, @edgessunflower, @neapolitantoebeans, @mramirez1222, @multifandomlover01, @i-your-friendly-neighborhood-emo, @locke-writes, @magpie6322, @lemonflavoredsock, @booksabound1991

[multifandomfix]

It’s Good To Be Bad — Leland Townsend

Summary: You’ve done something you’re not proud of, but Leland hopes to wipe you of your shame and bring out the darker side of you.

Word Count: 1,023

Warnings: Manipulation, vague references to immoral acts, Leland is his own warning

The quiet in your apartment is oppressive, pressing down on you like a weight. You sit at the kitchen table, the remnants of a half eaten meal in front of you, untouched for hours now. Your hands are still, but your mind is not. It’s running circles around the thing you did, the choice you made, the line you crossed. You wish you could take it back, rewind the night, undo the decision before it ever took root. But there’s no erasing it. No undoing. Only sitting in the aftermath of what you’ve done.

A sharp knock at the door makes you flinch. Your breath catches as you rise, hesitating before unlocking it. Leland Townsend leans against the frame, looking amused, looking like he already knows. He probably does. His eyes flick down, scanning you like a puzzle he’s already solved.

“You didn’t call,” he says, stepping past you without waiting for an invitation.

“I didn’t think you needed an update,” you reply bitterly, voice hoarse from hours of fraught silence, broken only by the occasional scream of regret.

He turns to face you, his smirk slow and deliberate. “Oh, but I do. I love hearing about moral crises. They’re so…delicate.” He gestures vaguely with one hand before moving toward the table, inspecting the untouched food, the nearly empty glass beside it. “Not eating? The guilt weighing on you already?”

You don’t answer, just fold your arms tight across your chest, as if you can hold yourself together that way. He watches, waiting for you to break the silence, to let him in, and you hate that it works.

“I shouldn’t have done it,” you finally admit, your voice barely registering above a whisper.

Leland hums, considering. “But you did. And the world is still spinning, isn’t it?”

You look away, but he steps closer. “Tell me,” he continues, voice soft now, almost coaxing, “was it everything you imagined?”

“No.” The answer is automatic. But your voice wavers, betraying something beneath the shame, something you don’t want to name.

Leland catches it, of course he does. He chuckles, and the sound is warm, indulgent. “Liar.”

You’re intent on defying him now. “I’m not lying.”

“Hmm.” He tilts his head, searching your face. “So it didn’t feel good? Not even for a second?”

You don’t respond, because what would be the point? He already knows. It’s clear to you now. No matter what you say, he knows the truth of it.

Leland leans in, lowering his voice. “That’s the thing about moments like these. The ones that shake your little moral compass. The shame will claw at you for a while, make you sick with regret. But deep down? You liked it. That’s the real problem, isn’t it?”

Your stomach twists, your body tense, but you can’t bring yourself to push him away. What was it about him that drew you in? How was it that he was able to poison your mind in the most delightful way?

He grins, watching the war play out in your expression. “You think you should be better than this,” he muses, brushing past you, making his way deeper into your apartment. “That you should hate what you did, hate yourself for it. But you don’t.” He glances over his shoulder. “Not really.”

You follow him, half heartedly. “I didn’t ask for your analysis.”

“Oh, but you let me in,” he reminds you, plopping onto the couch like he belongs there. “Which tells me you want it.”

You run a hand over your face, exhausted. “Why are you here?”

“To help,” he says simply. “To relieve you of this ridiculous guilt of yours.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “And how do you plan on doing that?”

Leland stretches, his casual confidence filling the space between you. “By showing you that there’s nothing to feel guilty about. You think you’ve done something terrible, something unforgivable.” He gestures dismissively. “But what if I told you that what you did wasn’t a mistake? That it wasn’t a moment of weakness, but a moment of clarity?”

“That’s not—” you began to protest.

“It is,” he insists. He sits forward, eyes locked onto yours. “You’ve spent your whole life coloring inside the lines, playing by the rules. And then, for once, you stepped outside of them. And now you’re panicking because it didn’t feel as bad as it was supposed to.”

You shake your head, stepping back, but Leland stands, closing the distance between you in an instant. His voice dips, quieter, more intimate. “I could help you, you know. Take this weight off your shoulders. You think you need to punish yourself for this, but what if I told you there’s nothing to punish?”

“I don’t want to be like you,” you say, but your voice lacks conviction.

He smiles, eyes sharp and knowing. “You already are.”

Silence stretches between you again. The air is thick with something unspoken, something you’re afraid to acknowledge. Leland reaches out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle, almost reverent.

“You can run from it,” he says, his breath warm against your skin. “Or you can embrace it.”

Your pulse pounds in your ears. You should shove him away, tell him to leave, swear that this—whatever this is—ends here. But your body betrays you, frozen in place, waiting, wanting.

Leland’s lips curl into a smirk. He already knows, you’re reminded. He’s just toying with you and waiting for you to say it out loud. Waiting for you to prove him right, so he can lord it over you when the time comes, knowing he was your undoing.

“I did it,” you exhale. “I liked doing it, and I want to do it again.” The words come from your mouth tasting of bile, and yet they were also oddly freeing. Your confidence builds and by the end of your sentence you’re matching him eye to eye.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and something inside you shifts, something dark and dangerous and thrilling.

You don’t resist when he pulls you closer.

Maybe you don’t want to be saved after all.

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @devotedlyscentedtocomedians, @lakita-fisher

[multifandomfix]

March Movie Wrap Up

Alice In Wonderland (1999): 6/10. I had watched this movie years and years ago, but I thought it time for a refresher. While some parts were charming, some were more irritating. Martin Short was wonderful of course, as was Miranda Richardson. Whoopi Goldberg as the Cheshire Cat was both disturbing and delightful. But, it was certainly not my favorite Alice iteration.

Allan Quartermain and the Lost City of Gold: 1/10. It was supposed to be a spoof of Indiana Jones, but it was just a poorly written knock off that had no elements of humor nor parody. Frankly it could have been a three minute film with only Cassandra Peterson’s non speaking character and it would have been so much better.

Argylle: 2/10. Was it a bad movie? I don’t know, but it really just wasn’t for me. It had a unique premise, but it felt like it was trying too hard to be funny and serious at the same time, and neither really landed. Catherine O’Hara was adorable in it though.

Broken Flowers: 6/10. The story was good, though it didn’t personally thrill me. Mainly watched it for Jessica Lange, so if you want to see a heavily hinted 10 seconds of Jessica Lange being in a relationship with the younger woman who works for her, then I’d definitely recommend it. 😝

Don’t Come Knocking: 2/10. Look, the plot was irrelevant to me entirely, and frankly didn’t seem like I was missing much by fast forwarding to get to the parts Jessica Lange was in. Even those weren’t really that thrilling, aside from just seeing her face and hearing her voice, so, yeah. Not one I’d really recommend.

Lucy and Desi: 10/10. Truly well done documentary that is very near and dear to my heart, as Lucille Ball was one of my earliest hyperfixations. I even managed to learn some new things about the two of them, which was surprising considering how long I’ve been a fan and how many things I’ve seen about her.

Mack & Rita: 7/10. A unique premise, but lacked a certain punch. Decent message, not really boring, but I wouldn’t go around recommending it to everyone. Diane Keaton was her usual self which is good if you’re a fan, but somewhat tiring if you’re not. 😝

Pandemonium: 9/10. If you want your horror with a heavy dose of screwball comedy, please watch Pandemonium. I’ll admit, there are parts of it that are kind of dumb, but it’s truly part of the charm. Highlights include a taxidermy badger and Carol Kane being impossibly cute and adorable.

Pee Wee's Big Adventure: 8/10. If you’re not familiar with Pee Wee Herman and make it past the first twenty minutes, it actually gets to be pretty good. He’s annoying in a sometimes funny, sometimes extremely irritating way and you definitely have to either roll with it or stop watching.

Pumpkin: 8/10. For a movie made in 2002, it’s not without its flaws, but it had a good story and a lot of heart, even despite its faults. There were a few moments that it felt a little overacted, and it isn’t one I’d go around recommending to everyone, but it was a good watch and I quite liked it.

[multifandomfix]

Party Of Three (Daphne Moon x Roz Doyle x OC)

Summary: While Andrea is housesitting for Frasier a series of events lead her to have both Roz and Daphne for company, but with neither knowing the other is there, Andrea has to find a way to keep it that way. Or does she?

Word Count: 1,343

Warnings: Mild smut, threesome, thigh riding, lingerie

Andrea was watching Eddie, and housesitting for Frasier when he, Niles, and their father had a boys weekend somewhere she didn’t remember the exact details of. Something to do with their childhood, and their father's birthday. She’d always liked Frasier's place, and definitely did not mind watching it for a weekend.

Daphne was supposed to be meeting with one of her friends that flew in from England that she was going to stay with for the weekend, so she had the place completely to herself. Kicking back on the couch with a book, she planned for a quiet evening. Hardly a chapter in however, brought Daphne back into the apartment. "That was short," Andrea remarked.

"She missed her flight. Called the pub where we were supposed to meet and left a message for me there."

"I’m sorry. I know you were looking forward to catching up with her."

Daphne waved it off. "Ah, some other time. I’m actually just happy to be home."

Andrea smiled. "Maybe it’s a bit selfish of me, but I’m kind of happy you’re home too."

Daphne swatted Andrea's arm as she passed by. "Oh you," she playfully scolded.

"I mean, I was going to have a quiet weekend alone, but alone with you does sound more appealing."

"Then let me go and slip into something far less comfortable." They shared a laugh as Daphne disappeared to her bedroom to change. Several minutes passed as Andrea considered changing into something a little sexier herself, thinking she must have something suitable in her overnight bag, and just as she came to the conclusion that she should probably look, a knock fell on the door. Curious, Andrea went to answer it.

"Roz," Andrea greeted in surprise. Somehow she was the last person Andrea was expecting.

"So I may have overheard that you were housesitting for Frasier and decided to come over and surprise you. Maybe keep you company, if you catch my drift." It was then that Andrea took notice of the tightly tied trench coat Roz wore, and she had the sneaking suspicion she knew what would be under it. And the smile on Roz's face confirmed it all. Now she was really in a pickle.

Ushering Roz inside quickly as she figured out what to do, Andrea gave a warm, welcoming smile in return, hoping it would mask the panic of her situation. "Why don’t you meet me in Frasier's bedroom," Andrea suggested. "I need to freshen up a bit."

"Naughty girl," Roz replied, clearly turned on by the idea. "I like the way you think. Take your time." Roz gave Andrea a wink and headed for Frasier's bedroom. With her safely out of the way for the moment, Andrea began to make her way to Daphne's room, nearly crashing into her coming out of it.

In a short, silky purple nightie trimmed with black lace at the neck and the hem, Andrea was rendered speechless as she took in Daphne's new look. "Daphne, you look, um, wow. I didn’t even know you owned something like that." Roz, waiting for her in Frasier's room was almost entirely forgotten in the moment. Daphne blushed, eyes darting to the wooden floors. To give her a boost of confidence, Andrea leaned in, kissing Daphne swiftly.

Having lost herself in the heat of the moment, Andrea's eyes shot open mid kiss, suddenly remembering Roz, who was no doubt starting to wonder what was keeping her. "Daphne, darling, why don’t you pour us a glass of wine to start the evening off?" Frasier had offered her a bottle from his personal selection, so she might as well make use of it. "Frasier said I could have a bottle of his, so pick a good one."

This earned her a bright smile from Daphne as she excused herself to the kitchen, Andrea dashing off for Frasier's bedroom the second she was out of sight, hoping a plan would soon formulate in her mind to get her out of this mess. "There you are," Roz purred, welcoming Andrea with a soft, teasing kiss. "Mmm, you really did freshen up. That perfume is lovely."

Thanks, it’s Daphne's, Andrea thought, though luckily the words didn’t pass her lips. "Glad you like it," she said instead, hoping her voice was coming off as sultry. God, what she wouldn’t do for an easy way out right now. As her mind spun in search of an idea, Roz began to untie her coat. The trench coat crumpled to the floor around Roz before Andrea could open her mouth to put a stop to it. The black bustier, panties, garter belt and stockings, matched with Roz's stiletto heels was enough to prolong her silence as —for the second time that night— Andrea was at a loss for words.

When the door to Frasier's bedroom was opened behind her, she didn’t even realize it. Yet, whatever plans she may have had to avoid this very thing, all went out the window as Daphne stepped in, two wine glasses in hand. "Roz?!?"

"Daphne!" Roz scrambled for something to cover herself, opting for the blanket folded up at the end of the bed, as it was the closest and easiest thing she could reach. Her brain catching up, Andrea looked from Roz to Daphne and back again. Oops, too slow. There was no getting out now.

Daphne sat the full wine glasses on the nearest flat surface, as dropping them in Frasier's room and leaving evidence of this whole snafu was absolutely out of the question. She was lucky she hadn’t dropped them both the minute she walked in. "I can explain," Andrea offered weakly, even though she was far from sure that she actually could. Yet neither woman seemed to hear her.

"Daphne, your legs, they’re so long. You can’t usually tell in everyday clothes, but wow," Roz noted.

"Me? Have you looked at yourself in a mirror? I could never pull something like that off."

"Actually, you could, if you want," Roz flirted, dropping the blanket. Andrea had stepped back now, making it easier to look between the both of them, despite the fact that she no longer knew what was happening.

"What’s going on," Andrea asked. "Am I dreaming? I have to be dreaming," she reasoned, Daphne and Roz now moving towards each other. Andrea pinched her own arm, needing to know if this was real. What she expected to be an utter disaster was going better than her wildest fantasy come true. Then why was she standing here thinking about it when she could be living it?

Watching Daphne and Roz stop in front of her to share a kiss made Andrea's heart skip a beat and her stomach flip. Maybe she’d already died of embarrassment and gone to heaven. Didn’t matter, she was going to enjoy this. Already a step behind the two of them, Andrea hastily undressed, leaving a mess of her clothes at her feet. They could move this to Daphne's room, but they were all so caught up in each other, that moving would only serve to break the mood. She’d just have to remember to wash the sheets before Frasier came home.

Both Daphne and Andrea unclipped a stocking from Roz's garter belt, hands roaming across smooth thighs, desperate to touch the flesh between them. While they had intended to take it slow, clothes were completely cast aside in such a short time that it was clear they’d rather get to the main event sooner than later.

Kisses were peppered down Daphne's neck and shoulders. Roz's mass of hair hung down over one shoulder as she rode Andrea's thigh. Daphne tucked some of it behind her ear and kissed her. All three women were soft, tender with one another, guiding one another to release time and time again. It was nearly midnight before they checked the clock, now laying cuddled up to one another, still naked under the sheets, their energy spent. And to think, the party didn’t have to end for another twenty four hours.

Forever Tag: @arrthurpendragon, @borg-queer, @foxesandmagic, @connietheecunning, @chickensarentcheap, @smutember

[multifandomfix]

Eceon Exile (Thirteenth Doctor x OC)

Summary: Calpernia and the Doctor go off for a scenic seasonal trip, but inadvertently interrupt a highly valued tradition just by being there, which leads to temporary isolation from one another and some consequences for the pair.

Word Count: 1,390

Warnings: Bit of angst

"Isn’t Eceon just lovely this time of year," the Doctor gushed.

"Yes, it is," Calpernia replied pleasantly. It wasn’t as if it was about the dozenth time she’d answered some version of that same exact question, but the childlike wonder on the Doctor's face kept her from getting short with her.

"See, I can bring you places that are just peaceful," the Doctor began, turning her attention from the planet's seasonal reddish pink hues. "Eceon's equivalent of earth's autumn has inspired some of the most influential artists of the 36th century." She looked to Calpernia and received a soft smile from her, as was often the case when she recited facts that Calpernia found fascinating. The Doctor was about to continue, but as soon as she opened her mouth, it was as if another voice came out.

"Halt," a baritone voice interrupted. "Turn and identify yourselves."

"May have spoke too soon about the peaceful bit," the Doctor admitted, a guilty look on her face. Calpernia sighed and the two of them turned to comply with the order they’d been given.

"I’m the Doctor, and this is Calpernia. Beautiful name, isn’t it?" The man, whom Calpernia assumed to be a guard of some sort, did not find her name nearly as delightful as the Doctor did. "Right, okay, I see you’re not one for pleasantries. Suppose we won’t get a name in return."

Unfazed by the Doctor's yammering, the guard's sour expression did not change. "You’ve intruded upon the Sestral Celebration where no outsiders are permitted on Eceon for the forty eight hours that the moon passes overhead," the guard informed.

"Figures I’d time that one poorly. Thought I’d ironed out those couple of kinks. Can’t be helped now," the Doctor muttered to herself. Only Calpernia was able to hear her clearly, and nudged the Doctor gently in the side with her elbow. "Well, we'll just be going then, won’t we," The Doctor tried to reason, snapping back to attention. Calpernia nodded along, hoping it would be enough to get them out of this, but based on past events, she couldn’t say she was holding out much hope of an easy escape.

Soon, two more guards, who looked just as intimidating as the first, appeared behind the original and both the Doctor and Calpernia were seized, being carried off in separate directions. "Doctor," Calpernia called. "Doctor, I don’t like this."

"Don’t worry. I’ll figure something out," the Doctor called back, just losing sight of Calpernia as she did. Famous last words, Calpernia thought. What was she meant to do in the meantime?

Calpernia was placed in a small holding room, just big enough for her to kick her legs out in front of her as she sat on the cold, hard floor. She didn’t suppose that these were a violent people, just displeased that their celebration had been intruded upon. She figured she could understand that, but it still sucked that what was meant to be a nice, scenic trip had turned into the same old problematic situation that the Doctor always seemed to be getting them into.

Hours passed and with nothing to do, Calpernia started to become antsy. Any time now, Doctor, she thought, moving about the small room, only maddening herself further. She didn’t like the cramped quarters and just wanted to get out of there and off this planet and go back to the TARDIS to get some rest.

Be out in a jiff, the Doctor's voice rang in her head, but Calpernia couldn’t see her anywhere. Thinking she may have imagined it, she got up and checked her surroundings again. "Doctor," Calpernia broached, feeling strange. She waited, but there was no answer. Was she talking to no one? It sure felt like it, but the Doctor's voice had sounded so clear. Her hope and excitement had been momentarily restored, only to be dashed again but a few seconds later.

She slid her body back down the smooth wall. Doctor, where are you, she thought, a heavy breath puffing out of her as she made contact with the floor again.

I’m here, Cal, she heard again, quieter this time. Well, sort of. I’m in your head. Great, so she was crazy now. You’re not crazy, the Doctor insisted. How had she heard that? It’s a psychic link, the Doctor explained, once again reading Calpernia's thoughts. There’s only an hour before the celebration ends. I think they’ll let us go after that. You mind waiting?

Calpernia thought on it a moment. She desperately wanted out, but what was one more hour as long as it was the most reasonable, peaceful option? "Alright, an hour it is," she said aloud. It wasn’t as if anyone was going to hear her talking to what seemed like no one. And she was pretty sure the Doctor would still hear her. "Can you tell me about this psychic link thing," Calpernia asked, figuring it was a way to pass the time.

It’s fascinating, really. Don’t tend to use it much though. No need, really. I talk enough that it’s not generally necessary. Calpernia giggled a bit at that, a statement that undeniably true had to be laughed at and though she couldn’t see it, Calpernia could somehow sense the Doctor smiling along with her. It’s a connection, the Doctor went on. If I'm close enough with someone, I can use that bond to speak with them inside their mind. Works great in situations like these. There was a brief pause, long enough for Calpernia to notice her ears ringing, before the Doctor communicated with her again. I’m sorry, Cal.

"For what? It’s not as if you planned for us to get captured." It’s true, Calpernia had been upset with the situation, but not with the Doctor herself. The Doctor was not someone she could ever see herself staying mad at for any length of time.

For always being a disappointment. I just want to show you the universe and I keep putting you in harm's way and inconvenient situations. It’s never just…nice. You deserve nice things.

Calpernia's heart really went out to her. "Doctor, I have nice things. I have you. I have a life outside of that dusty old bookshop. Not that I don’t love it there, but I’ve always wanted to see things, go places, and with you, I'm finally living that dream. Sure, not everything goes to plan all the time, but that’s just life, isn’t it?"

Before the Doctor had a chance to respond, the heavy metal door was opening and Calpernia's distraction at the sound broke the psychic link between them. A stronger bond may not have been so easily severed, but she and Calpernia were still relatively new to one another.

The Doctor and Calpernia were reunited in another sterile looking room, lacking any sort of warmth or friendliness. They both smiled softly at one another, and Calpernia took the Doctor's hand when they were allowed to stand side by side once more. Her palm quickly grew sweaty underneath Calpernia’s grasp, and she hoped her companion didn’t notice.

"You will be released with this simple message," the guard from before instructed. "Do not return here to Eceon. You will not be permitted back on the planet, and if caught, you will face dire consequences."

"And I’m guessing we don’t want to know what those are," the Doctor interrupted.

"I believe you’d rather not find out," came the, again, unbothered and monotone reply.

"Right. Proceed."

"You are free to go, but your exile is permanent. Do not return to Eceon."

"Got it. Crystal clear. Don’t come back. Dire consequences. The works. Are we free to go now?"

"Yes, you may depart." Under the watchful eye of the guard, they were escorted back to the Doctor's TARDIS, and only let out their breaths once inside.

"Don't think we'll be coming back even if I’d wanted to after that."

"I’m okay with that. This is not an experience I’m eager to repeat. Besides, it’s good to be home."

The Doctor's smile could have lit up the entire TARDIS. Her TARDIS had always been her home, but she’d never had a companion tell her that it feels like theirs, and something in that touched her deeply. "What do you say we get this home on the road?"

"Yes, please."

Forever Tag: @arrthurpendragon, @borg-queer, @foxesandmagic, @connietheecunning, @chickensarentcheap

Calpernia Weatherly: @mrsfullbuster500, @fxnfandxmmp4