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tcustodisart · 4 months

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What are some cute moments that occur throughout the different acts that aren’t necessarily in the game but live in your head rent free?

Oh, this one is going to be a long answer, because there's a lot of squatters in my head and there's a lot to be unleashed. Let's start with this doodle with the boys playing lanceboard at camp and continue under the cut. Lots of cringe and brainrot incoming, so brace yourself.

Act 1:

Connie is constantly bickering with Astarion over him stealing his journal. Gale suggest to cast arcane lock on it, but Connie knows it won't stop that gremlin from reading it so why bother.

This sad pile of rugs is where I imagine Connie sleeps in Act 1. Additional Astarion line: "Damn darling, you live like this?"

During the first romance scene Connie tells Shart about his family, about how he and his brother know the city inside and out, about his parents and the tavern they run, about the trap incident. It's the most he talked to someone who wasn't his family or his crow in years. He wishes that night would never end.

Connie sends letters to his family via Faust, he stops after entering Underdark.

Act 2:

I mentioned it before that Connie is not taking the Shadow Curse very well. He misses the sun, misses the grass, he's unable to contact his family, Shart has distanced herself from him. Karlach notices it and tries to cheer him up. They end up having long talks almost every night. That's the moment their friendship evolves from just friends to besties.

When Connie finds the second warding bond ring, he wishes he could give the other one to Shadowheart, but finds the moment inappropriate. He ends up giving her the ring at the beginning of Act 3.

Act 3:

I have a lot of stuff for this act.

This is inspired by one of Jaheira's lines: "'The Cub and the Crow'- sounds like a cautionary tale. As it probably should." Connie draws her a mock up cover for a kids book. Jaheira sticks it to the traveling chest (I mostly store food there, so to me traveling chest = fridge).

Connie goes through a serious breakdown at the start of this act (after a companion is abducted), he ends up crying and saying that for the first time he doesn't believe they're going to make it, that he'll never hug his mom, never hear his brother sing again, won't be able to tell his step dad that he saw Darkmaw the Wicked. He's being comforted first by Jaheira and then by the rest of his party.

His favorite armor gets damaged one time, he's very upset about it. But the next morning he finds it magically repaired (Astarion fixed it, from the start of Act 3 they become besties).

This wip that I'm very slowly working on happens during act 3. Connie makes some flower crowns and talks about how his mom taught him to do that. I'm not going to say more, because I really want to finish that comic.

Connie has a deal with Popper that he'll pay him double for every night orchid he finds (I actually did that in game, I bantered him more money for the flower than he asked for, I love that little guy so much).

This one is more funny than cute but when Connecticut Tav was younger and still lived in Baldur's Gate he used to visit Sharess's Caress pretty regularly because it was the best way to practice drawing people. He really enjoyed talking with the workers there, he eventually convinced them that maybe creating an union isn't such a bad idea. He ended up being banned from entering the brothel because of that. So when the party approaches it to meet Voss, he's very nervous that the owner will remember him (she does). There's a dialogue in my head but it would work better with some visuals, so maybe one time I'm going to draw it.

In my head, the cottage they end up living in is Connie's old hunting hut. So after the conversation with Shadowheart about her plans for after defeating the brain, he suggest that it would be the perfect place to go. He then draws the house to show her how it looks like, tells her that it's surrounded by a forest, there's a lake nearby, a small stable that can be turned into a barn if needed, and that he's not sure about the quality of the soil, but he did grow some herbs there, so maybe it's going to be good enough to grow flowers.

At the end of the game Connie decides to stay in Baldur's Gate for a while to help his family fix their tavern (which was heavily damaged). He tells Shart to go the house I mentioned before, because he wants her to start her new life as soon as possible + because it would be better for her parents. He stealthily puts his journal in her stuff with a note attached to it saying that he finished it this morning and she can read it if she wants to. He also gives her Faust so she can write him letters whenever she wants to. After 2 tendays he arrives at the cottage with some gifts (night orchid bulbs and a pamphlet about how to take care of them, there was supposed to be another gift, but he wasn't able to find it just yet, but that's for another story).

Epilogue party (because I'm that insane):

It's been sitting in my wips for more than two months, so I don't know if I'll be able to finish it. But during the party Connie and Shadowheart take 10 minute brake to visit the place from the first romance scene. They have a very similar conversation like before, but their roles are reversed now - It's Connie asking questions about Shart's current life. "Tell me something about yourself, but no tadpoles, weird artifacts, petty goddesses. Something about you."

#ask me anything #bg3 #connecticut tav #oh oof this took some time #but know this annon I am giving you a kiss on the cheek and I'm paying for our imaginary kids' collage for asking this question

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skeedelvee · 2 months

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Ayy! I'm finally trying one of these! Thank you everyone that's tagged me in theirs in the past, I always like getting the notifications so I can check out all of your wonderful WIPs! <3

Doing a few WIPs since I've got a bunch going and I've gotten interest in a few.

First up is Second Moon! This is a sequel to my fic First Moon in which Simon is experiencing his first time transforming into a were-dragon. These fics are inspired by @frjsti 's amazing artwork! The sequel is about his 2nd time transforming and how Simon and Baz handle it differently now they know what they're in for and they've had time to prep for and crave certain fantasies for the next full moon. Here's a snippet of them discussing Baz wanting to bottom this time around:

He’s got his academic face on, as if we were talking about the merits of some new magical theory and not him taking my foot long dragon cock up his arse. “Still, there's a lot of risk involved in this. Even if I don’t destroy your arse, there’s still my claws and my fire breath to worry about. It’s a bit dangerous, innit?” “I thought you were the one to always face danger head on.” “I am, but this really isn’t about me.” “Isn’t it? Listen. If you really don’t want to do this, I won’t press for it, but it’s what I want and I’m not afraid of what might happen. I trust you.” I mull it over for a moment before he adds: “And if you do manage to kill me, please make sure my headstone reads ‘Here lies Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. He died doing what he loved: getting railed by Simon Snow’s monster cock.” I snort. “Your father would have my head if I even suggested that.” “Then I’ll have to have it written up in an official will,” he says with a smile. “What will it be then, Snow? Do you want this?” There’s no point lying about it. “Yes. I want it. I want you. You have to promise me though, that you won’t let me hurt you. Don’t muscle through it for my sake. Say your safe word as soon as things turn bad.” “I promise, Simon.”

@stitchy-queerista wanted to hear more about A Good High, so I'll do that one as well!

A Good High is a one shot non-magic college roommate AU where Shepard leaves a pot brownie for Simon on what he thinks is his desk, but is actually Baz's desk. Baz thinks it's a normal brownie from Simon, eats it and gets really high by accident. Simon gets back to the dorm, finds Baz in his current state and has to turn Baz's bad high into a good one. Here's a snippet:

“Have you seen Ratatouille?” I ask as I set up my laptop at the foot of the bed. Baz is hugging his knees to his chest, but he’s lost that panicked look in his eyes. They look sleepy instead, droopy and dark like they are first thing in the morning (it’s very distracting). “I have four younger siblings, of course I’ve seen Ratatouille.” “Right, of course. Well, it always helps me relax, so it might help you,” I say as I make a fluffy pile of pillows to collapse against. “Just try to focus on the movie for a bit and let it melt your anxieties away.” The movie plays and I sit back, kick my feet up, I get immersed in Remi’s story as a start to feel the gummy kick in. I’m so relaxed that I almost forget about how Baz was feeling, but as soon as I do remember, I can’t seem to think of anything else. I watch him out of the corner of my eye. He’s watching the film and his breathing seems relaxed, but there’s something about his face that still looks raw, something about his posture that still seems on edge. I wish I could magically make this better for him. If he were anyone else I’d probably know what to do to cheer him up, but we’ve only just (kind of, sort of) started to get along. I don’t know if I’ve ever truly seen him relaxed before now that I think of it, he even looks tense while he sleeps. Maybe I should just ask him about what would help. “Psst, Baz, can I get you anything? Tea? Or a snack?” “No, I’m fine.” “A blanket?” “No.” He curls in on himself more and I mentally start kicking myself. Fuck, I’m making it worse. I wrack my brains for an idea to make this better, ignoring the little voice in my head telling me to leave well enough alone. Maybe if I got him to laugh that might get him out of this funk. “How about a cuddle then?” It was supposed to be a joke, but I can’t manage to laugh at it. My heart is beating out of my chest as the words leave my mouth. It’s a silly notion, the two of us cuddling, and I know it's something he’d never go for. And part of me is still hoping he’ll think it’s funny and he’ll break into a smile as he laughs it off, but the other part of me is desperate for him to say yes.

And @roomwithanopenfire wanted to hear about my untitled Gareth/Rhys fic, so I'll do that one too

This one is fairly new actually. It's kind of inspired by an outfit of mine actually. A lot of people who have met me IRL will probably have seen me in this, but I like to call it my Gareth as a slutty queer woman cosplay; a black crop top, black short shorts, and a brown belt with a white jaguar enamel belt buckle. I was wearing it recently and thinking about Gareth and thinking about a fem Gareth (I call her Gi in this) wielding the magic thrusting belt buckle, and then I started to write this. It's a getting together story about Gareth and Rhys with mutual pining. It starts with the two of them in their room, unpacking and settling into the space for their 8th year. Gi has her skirt tucked into her underpants and it's a whole thing for Rhys. Here's a snippet:

I can feel myself blush down to my toes. Thankfully, Gi discovers the state of her skirt and is distracted from seeing the full state of my complexion. “Has it been tucked in this whole time?” “Pretty much,” I wince. She snorts and then giggles as she unbuttons the thing and kicks it underneath her bed. I try to keep my eyes above her waist. “I hope my grandma saw. It’s what she deserves for insisting I ‘dress like a lady’ in her presence.” She’s stepping into her school trousers now, she has to do a little wiggle jump to get them over her thick thighs (it’s poetry in the making). “She has seen how you cast spells, right? Surely trousers should be the least of her worries.” “I wear the buckle as a bracelet when the old bat’s visiting. Mum says she has ‘a poor constitution’ and I’ll ‘send her to an early grave’ if I try thrusting spells around her.” Gi does a poor imitation of her mother’s voice, playing up the theatrics for my entertainment. I watch her as she lovingly threads her belt through each of the loops on her trousers, it’s like watching a superhero put on their suit for the very first time. She does a turn in front of the mirror, smiles at her reflection, and then shoots finger guns at herself. I can’t help but smile too. I’m so in love with her, it hurts.

And here’s my belt buckle that inspired this:

I think most of you have already posted yours for the day, but I'll tag: @bookish-bogwitch @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @aristocratic-otter @roomwithanopenfire @stitchy-queerista @artsyunderstudy @noblecorgi @monbons @rimeswithpurple @ileadacharmedlife @facewithoutheart

#skeedelvee #wip wednesday #snowbaz #carry on rainbow rowell #femslash

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wannaeatramyeon · 2 months

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HELLO!!! It's me the anon that asked if you would ever consider doing fics for Tom Lee and Olly Wang, thank you so much for answering my ask AND IM SO HAPPY TO HEAR ITS NOT A DEFINITE NO!!! 😭😭😭🙏

In all honesty I asked because you have such incredibly good characterization of even the more unpopular but interesting characters, like the Logan fics are actually so so so wonderful, I was in so much genuine awe reading it, it felt so canon and true to the character, I found myself spacing off thinking about him more often now LOOLLLL. So that's why I was wondering how you would take chars like Tom and Olly, I think their characters are just so interesting in both their goods and flaws lmaoooo but unfortunately they’re a lil underrated. 🥹

I also majorly underestimated exactly how much your lookism fic list goes on for(in the best possible way), I’m not too used to tumblr layouts and I Just found out you have a wholeeeeee lot more fics than I previously knew and I’ve been having an absolute field day browsing through everything, it’s like discovering an even Bigger amount of gold in an already large treasure trove LMAOOOO. Thank you so much for everything 😭🙏💖 your dwindling insanity feeds the fandom big time LOOLLL!!!

Hi anon! Yeah it's definitely a never say never situation. But I do think fanon and my own HC has become my interpretation of the characters. I'm not toooo sure how well they hold up against canon tbh 🥴

Aw thank you for reading my Logan fics! My Logan phase was super short lived, then I fixated on Vin who is a little bit more fix-able, imo. Maybe I really should look into Hostel, including Olly and Tom Lee a bit more 🤔

Lmao my masterlist is here for anyone that is a bit lost. There's like 11 masterlists due to hitting link limits and trying to categorise them.

Not too sure how many I've published but for shits and giggles, here's my note app where I write shit and keep track of how many I've created (WIP and completed) and bitch is on 617 🫠

#lookism #lookism x reader #ramen asks

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writingquestionsanswered · 11 months

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Not sure if this was asked before but... how do you get your *passion* back for writing - or any old hobbies at all? Maybe bc of ADHD, but I used to hyperfixate on writing, reading and other things. They were my world. Now, when I actually have time to write... my interest is meh. Mild. Barely exists. But I'm still interested. Just not passionate. My heart doesn't flutter at new OC ideas anymore - or ships. Or family dynamics. I'm bored... what gives?

ADHD: Interested in Writing, But Not Passionate

I really struggled with this. Mainly, because I have a hard time wrapping my head around, "My interest barely exists but I'm still interested." I can't make sense of that.

I've written three different versions of an answer, none of which I liked in the end, because I think the long and the short of it is this: you can be interested in writing generally, but stuck on a WIP or unable to get started generally. And there are all sorts of reasons why you can be stuck on a WIP or unable to get started generally (including executive dysfunction... thanks, ADHD!) However, at the end of the day, if writing was a hyperfixation for you, that may be all it ever was. Even if some part of you is still "interested."

Which brings me to a story from answer attempt #2, which I think is still worth sharing. Years ago, I hyperfixated for weeks on a particular historical topic. I couldn't get enough. I read about it, watched documentaries about it, subscribed to magazines about it, fell down topic-related rabbit holes for hours at a time. My brain needed to understand every single thing there was to know about the topic, which was troublesome because everything about this topic isn't known... even by those who study it.

One day, my attention shifted to something else, but I never really lost the "interest" in this topic. My ears still perk when I hear something about it. I still skim articles about it when they come up on social media. I would probably pause in my channel surfing if I happened on a documentary about it. But my interest isn't the same. It's not enough for me to dive in to the extent that I did when it was a hyperfixation. And this was tested by the fact that not long ago, I visited a museum with a whole wing dedicated to this topic. And I knew it was a big deal that I was there, and that hyperfixated me would have blown a gasket out of sheer joy, but I just wasn't able to engage with the exhibits the way I wanted to or felt I should. I was looking at the artifacts and absorbing the words on the exhibition labels, but I wasn't feeling anything about it. It all fell flat. Which was kind of depressing, to be honest.

So, I'm telling that story because I think there's a very real possibility that may be what's happening for you with writing. It may just be a hyperfixation that still interests you in some way, but which can never really inspire that same level of interest you once had--unless you become hyperfixated on it again, but there's no way to force that. And there's no way to know for sure if that's what's going on except to try some of the things suggested in the links below to see if you can troubleshoot a cause or kick start your motivation. If not, it may just be something you did once and may come back to again eventually. ♥

Guide: Filling Your Creative Well Guide: How to Rekindle Your Motivation to Write Getting Excited About Your Story Again Getting Unstuck: Motivation Beyond Mood Boards & Playlists 5 Reasons You Lost Interest in Your WIP, Plus Fixes! Feeling Unmotivated with WIP

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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#writing tips #writing help #writeblr #writing advice #wqaadvice

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froizetta · 5 months

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WIP Wednesday (but it's Thursday)

So I told myself I would post this yesterday, but when I left for the evening I realised I hadn't in fact done that. Whoops! But hey, it's only like 4 and a half past midnight on Baker Island, so if you think about it, it basically still counts as Wednesday. Right?

Anyway, this one is the next chunk of my superbatlantern fic, because I thought I might as well just commit and post what's basically the end of chapter 1. (For anyone who hasn't read the preceding parts: part 1 and part 2.)

“You were spying on us,” Bats said in that rough, low growl of his. He didn’t sound happy.

Well, there didn’t seem much point in denying it at this point, huh? “Yeah,” he said.

“Why.”

“Is that really important?” Hal shrugged. “Curiosity, mostly. I sensed a little sexual tension earlier in that meeting, while you two were going at it with each other.” The word choice made Batman’s eyebrow twitch gratifyingly. “I thought maybe you’d come in here to continue what you started, so I decided to check. That’s all.”

Superman went from looking mostly dismayed to a little bewildered. “So you wanted to catch us—what? Having sex? This is the Watchtower, we wouldn’t— Why would you think we’d even do that here?”

Hal felt his eyebrows raise. “What, you mean you haven’t? Ever?” Superman didn’t say anything to that, which to Hal was pretty much as good as an admission. He grinned. “Heh, thought so. I always knew you were less of a boy scout than you let on.”

Superman looked like he wanted to respond to that, but Batman cut him off coolly before he could. “Clark, focus. Hal’s concerning attempts at voyeurism aside—”

“Hey!” Hal objected. “I wasn’t out there trying to jack off or anything, don’t make it weird—”

“Putting that aside,” Bats continued firmly, “we need to deal with the real issue here.”

He turned his ice-blue gaze on Superman, who met it immediately as if by instinct. They did that kind of thing a lot, silently communicating with each other with just a look or a subtle gesture, like they had some kind of freaky, psychic bond. Just like now, where the meaningful glances exchanged above Hal’s head were a whole conversation he couldn’t hear.

…Huh. Hal probably should have figured they were dating a while ago, actually.

After a long few seconds, they seemed to come to an agreement. Superman turned back to address him, stoic and serious. “Hal, we need to know you’re not going to spread this around.”

Hal raised an eyebrow. “Or what? You’re gonna blackmail me? Kick me out of the League? Put my feet in a bucket of cement and drop me into the Atlantic?”

A muscle flexed in Batman’s jaw, the way it always did when he was pissy. “Obviously not.”

“Good,” he said, flashing the ring alongside his signature grin. “Because I’m not feeling super threatened.”

That muscle flexed again and Batman’s hands clenched to fists. Okay, so he was really pissed, huh? “Christ, Jordan, this isn’t the time for your pointless posturing,” he snarled. “Can't you take this seriously, for once in your life—”

“Bruce,” Superman said softly, laying a hand on his shoulder. “It’s gonna be fine, okay? It’s Hal.”

Hal bristled, unsure what the guy meant by that but instinctually convinced that it had to be some kind of dig at his expense. But before he could say anything righteously indignant, Bats just kind of…softened? There wasn’t really another word for it, all that sneering tension seeping out of him in an instant. Bats reached up to squeeze the hand on his shoulder, grateful and reassuring, and it all felt so easily intimate that whatever words were about to come out caught in Hal’s throat.

Hal swallowed. Geez, what was wrong with him? He wasn’t normally like this around Ollie and Dinah, and god knows they weren’t that shy about PDA. And this was barely even that. What about it was weirding him out so much? Just because it was them?

Superman smiled at him, all benevolence and understanding but for the tension around his eyes. “Look, there’s a reason we’ve been keeping our relationship private. We agreed when this started that dating openly would be too complicated and too much risk for our secret identities. And unfortunately, that includes the Justice League. You know how gossip spreads among the superhero community.”

Boy did he. When Carol had dumped him for good, he’d gotten a commiseration text from Booster Gold. Fucking Booster Gold.

“And I don’t want what we do in our private time encroaching on what we do here,” he went on. “We have a leadership position in League together with Diana. The two of us being in a relationship could…complicate things, here.”

“You don’t want that, huh, big guy?” Hal said. “That not a concern your boyfriend shares?”

Batman’s expression remained blank. Superman’s eyes hardened. “Don't try to change the subject, please. This is serious.”

“Clark is right,” Bats said. “Hal, we need explicit verbal confirmation. Will you agree to keep this a secret, or are we going to have a problem?”

Hal shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”

Both of them paused.

“Really,” Batman said, with an edge of suspicion. “Just like that.”

“Yeah, just like that. Why are you acting so surprised? I’m in this game too, I know the drill. I can keep a secret.”

“You wear a flight suit with your name on it under your Lantern uniform.”

“And yet somehow, the general public hasn’t worked it out yet. Go figure.” He felt his lips pull into a sneer. “Look, what do you want from me? I said I won’t blab and I won’t. Am I supposed to sign a pact in blood or something?”

“Shockingly, I wasn’t actually going to suggest that,” Batman said dryly. “But it would certainly be more comforting than just taking it on faith.”

Hal gritted his teeth. “Oh, right. So you don’t trust me, is that it?”

“Bruce,” Superman said, frowning.

Bats just shook his head. “It’s nothing personal. Trust alone is a poor basis for most agreements.”

“So that’s a 'no, I don’t trust you' then? Fuck you too. How many times have I pulled your ass out of the fire by now, Spooky—”

“Fewer times than I’ve done the same for you—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Superman cut in, face like gentle thunder. “Bruce, we’re asking him for a favor here. Antagonizing him is counterproductive.” Bats just grunted and looked away. “And Hal, you have to understand this is difficult for us. For both of us. We’ve kept this hidden for a long time, from almost everyone in our lives, and you’re the first person to find out like this. I hope you can appreciate the gravity of that.”

Hal scrubbed a hand through his hair, feeling the sudden rush of anger drain out of him. It was honestly hard to stay mad when Superman was using his Nice Reasonable Mediator voice. “Yeah, I… Look, I do get it, okay? I’m not gonna blab, because no matter what either of you think, I’m not that big of an asshole. I don’t go around fucking up other people’s relationships for fun, you know.”

“We know, Hal,” Superman said, reassuringly. Batman was annoyingly silent.

“Cool. Are we done here?”

“We’re done,” Bats said.

Thank god. Hal was feeling shittier and antsier the longer he sat here with these guys.

#my fic #superbatlantern #this is pretty much the setup for the whole plot now #eventually this will resolve to ot3! not yet though lol #right now hal is just jealous af but doesn't quite know it

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blazinghotfoggynights · 5 months

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My Mind Did That Thing Again!

You know, where it sees something, then takes off in a random direction for no reason other than it can and it's fun. So, I had a crazy thought last season and it just kind of...experienced an accelerated unchecked growth spurt today after reading the info about the next ep's and the upcoming eps's titles. *looks at the titles of the remaining episodes* 🤨

I have a WIP that I began the night the lightning strike episode premiered last season. Let me preface this by saying the fic is nowhere near complete. (I'm in no hurry. That is the beauty of fandom. You can offer a fic forty years after a show ends and the devoted fans will still be there.) The plan is still for it to be a series with several entries, all of which are multi-chaptered.

Why am I bringing this up? Because it's that time again folks where my imagination runs wild and I ask you all to play 'I know this is crazy, but just hear me out and humor me". For those who have seen this game, participated, and maybe even enjoyed it, you are awesome!

So, the game is played just like the title states. Let's go! (I put the insanity under a cut. If you move forward, I am not responsible for anything that happens!

We know Shannon and most of Eddie's family are supposedly going to appear in the next ep, right? (I say supposedly because you can't really trust anything that gets leaked. Remember that karaoke scene?)

What if it's because Eddie Diaz is balancing on a thin wire between the living and dead? He is close enough to the other side to see Shannon, but still physically hanging on in this plane.

You're probably rolling your eyes and wondering, "What the hell does this have to do with last season?" That's okay and I will tell you.

What if, all this time, we've been viewers of Eddie's coma dream? What if the person who actually died and had to be revived was Eddie? Everything that has happened since then has all been a figment of his imagination.

I'm not saying this is plausible, probable, or practical. I'm just having some fun. (I write. I paint. I am creative. Some say cray cray, but what is normal anyway?)

Now, if I look at what has transpired between then and now, I could point out a few things that could support that theory. (You can call me crazy later. I'm used to it.)

1- Eddie was hit by the lightning.

Eddie was hit first, but just hopped right up? I know some people will say the lightning threw him, but let's look at simple science. To be affected by the electricity, he had to experience the electricity. It was powerful enough to throw him off the truck.

Eddie was hit.

2- Eddie was not in Buck's dream.

Why? If it is really Eddie having the dream, but imagining it is Buck, it's possible he can't conjure a dream version of himself.

I thought it was interesting that Christopher was in the dream and asking Buck for help. Maybe it's Eddie's subconscious reminding him that Christopher will be taken care of by the man he trusted enough to give his son to should he be incapacitated.

3- The scene at the graveyard.

Why on Earth did they go to the victim's grave? Don't they have a rule of letting go at the door? Why would Eddie go to the cemetery and stand over the grave of someone he did not know having a heart-to-heart with Buck?

4- The death doula wasn't a doula.

She was death. Natalia taking Buck away the first time could have been Eddie coding. In his dream, Buck was leaving him, when in reality he was leaving Buck. Natalia coming back could have been Eddie moving toward death again, but managing to escape it's grasp once more. The final breakup? Eddie was resurging.

5- The bachelor party.

What about Eddie Diaz in the past six seasons would point to what he and Buck did? He got smashed, destroyed a hotel room with a bunch of strangers, and all in the name of a bachelor party for a man who didn't want one and was not even there.

The party could have been his subconscious rapidly processing a lot of information, both conscious and subconscious, suddenly. The drag queens? Come on now. Everything with that show is intentional and that scene was disjointed, chaotic, and completely unhinged. None of that is Eddie Diaz.

6- Marisol

Eddie is not into that woman. He is clinging to her for some reason and he fast forwarded through the relationship. Did the Eddie Diaz of seasons 2-early 6 seem like the type of father to let some woman he barely knows supervise his son's dates, babysit Christopher, and move in?

Or was it Eddie's mind simply pulling a woman he had met briefly into his subconscious and building a story around her?

(For those who are science nerds or just fascinated by psychology, there is a theory our minds can't create faces and every person in your dream is someone you have at least seen in passing.)

6- Tommy

It has been mentioned soooo many times how similar Eddie and Tommy are.

That is all I will say on that topic.

For now.

If you made it all the way through, I will end it by saying this.

This may be a crazy idea about the show, but it will happen. If it doesn't in canon, it will in fic. This is why I love fandom. 😁

#Lou Eng's musings #Lou Eng's takes #911 #911 abc #911 on abc #9 1 1 buddie #buddie #buck x eddie #buddie 911 #evan buckley #eddie diaz x evan buckley #eddie x buck #evan buckley x eddie diaz #eddie diaz #my mind can be a scary place-Lou Eng #Lou Eng's take

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spreta-invidia · 9 months

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Do you have a daemyra fic rec list please? I’m desperately searching but they don’t live up to what you write I love your writing so much !! ❤️

Thank you so much!!! <3 That means so much to me! Thank you for reading and loving my writing.

I didn't have an actual Daemyra rec list, but I put a short one together today! There's so much fic in this fandom that I love, and so much that I have in my tbr queue also!

One Shots (canon or canon AU)

Those Happy Golden Years by SeveDeChampagne: This is actually a series of one shots set between episodes 7 and 9 that I think are just lovely. This is also maybe my favorite subgenre of Daemyra fic?

girls have their secrets by ginvael: This fits the subgenre above also! This is more focused on Rhaenyra, Baela, and Rhaena, and their relationships as the girls grow up. I really love ginvael's writing.

watching, always from the outskirts by vintagemocha: This is Alicent POV, but hear me out- it's great. The outsider POV works so well here to show Daemyra through the years.

burn for me by luthien_under_bough: Dark young queen Rhaenyra demands a special declaration of fealty from Daemon. Luthien's writing is so, so good basically always, and in this piece what got me was her use of detail. Also. Hot.

Multi-chapter (canon or canon AU)

Lavender Haze by madgirlslovesong: I think this is my favorite take on the idea of a disinherited Rhaenyra. This fic pairs really wonderful emotion with really interesting plotting/politics, and some excellent Daemyra content.

Bigger than the Whole Sky by CharlieLeau: Would you like your heart to be broken and broken and then mended? Then this is the fic for you! Instead of bearing her three sons during the ten year separation, in this fic Rhaenyra suffers a series of miscarriages, so the Rhaenyra Daemon reunites with is very different than in canon.

WIPs (canon or canon AU)

Threads of Black, Threads of Green by madgirlslovesong: I described this the other day as "if HotD was actually like ASOIAF" which is probably the highest compliment I can give. The hunt for the white hart inspires Rhaenyra to step up her political game. I caught up with this over two nights and I was so tired at work. Worth it.

Battlefields by calenlily: I'm a sucker for warrior Rhaenyra, but especially in the way calenlily does it here: very much a young woman in a new arena, with missteps and moments of glory both. Super excited for the rest of this. (Calenlily is another writer whose work I enjoy very much!)

Maternal Love by ginvael: An Aemma fix-it! I LOVE time travel fix-its, and this is one of my favs. There are some excellent moments between Aemma and Rhaenyra here.

Speaking of time travel fix-its... I think these two are abandoned, but I love what's there: Beyond the Black Door and five seconds later.

Modern AUs

Petrichor by sweetestsorrows: Really great Rhaenyra POV that takes the reader on a seven-year roller coaster through her relationship with Daemon.

entropy by firecollide (WIP): One of the first modern AUs I read in this fandom! In addition to being super fun, this fic also reignited my love for Arctic Monkeys.

This is definitely incomplete as lists go. I am perpetually behind on things and sort of a sloppy bookmarker (and also not a great comment leaver, though I am trying so hard to get better at that- it means SO much to me when people leave comments that it's almost talked me out of the incessant "oh god why does anyone care what you have to say, ugh you're probably sounding like an idiot" that goes through my head often/always tbh). There are gaps in here I should fill, and some fics are not available right now that any list of my favs feels naked without (High Hopes, I'm looking at you).

Let me know if you love any of these in particular! <3

#hotd fic #daemyra #fic rec

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phoenixexho · 4 months

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9-1-1 Fic WIP

Lena laughed, “Maybe you’re just gay.”

“Ha ha. But I’m being serious here. I don’t know what my issue is. I mean she’s the perfect woman for me.” He dodge out of the way of one of her incoming punches.

“I never met her but she’s fucking gorgeous. Like insanely so. You lost big time.”

“Gee thanks, you really know how to make a guy feel better.” He landed a particularly hard kick to her side knocking her balance for a moment. “Yeah, she’s pretty.” He said, stepping back out of her space. “Her and Chris got along so well, I feel bad for taking her away from him.”

“You feel bad about your son not being able to see your ex? Not about the breakup?”

“Ugh I don’t know Lena.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I do feel bad about the breakup. I miss her, but I was having panic attacks. Like every time I thought about a future with her I just…”

He shook his head, squaring back up. Lena hesitantly matched his stance, she probably wanted to stop and have this conversation. But that was one thing he loved about Lena, she wasn’t the touchy feely type, if he didn’t want to talk about feelings with her, he didn’t have to.

“Maybe I’m just not over Shannon. Being with Ana didn’t ever feel as comfortable as being with her. I don’t expect all my relationships to feel the same, I’m pretty sure it’s normal for them not to but that would sort of make sense.”

Lena scoffed, “What do you mean you're ‘pretty sure that’s normal’?” her tone lightheartedly mocking.

“Ana was only my second girlfriend” He admitted, suddenly a bit embarrassed.

“Shit, dude. You married your first girlfriend ever?” She sounded shocked.

He shrugged, “I got her pregnant. Not like I had much of a choice.”

“So you didn’t want to marry her?”

“I- I probably wouldn’t’ve married her if she didn’t get pregnant, no. But I loved her. I loved her a lot. And I think she might have been the only one I ever could marry. I don’t know that I’ll ever find someone I feel that comfortable around again.”

“Marriage isn’t about comfort, it’s about love.”

“Yeah, but you can’t marry someone you have panic attacks over a future with either. There’s gotta be comfort too.”

“Usually comfort comes with love.”

“Yeah. Well I don’t think I loved her either if I’m honest with myself.”

Lena didn’t say anything.

Eddie sighed, “Look, I don’t understand it so don’t expect an explanation. But I just kept waiting for the feelings to come and they never did. I mean, she’s everything I’ve been looking for, she’s so good with Chris and yet I never felt a thing for her.”

“Why’d you ask her out then?”

“I just said? She’s everything I’ve been looking for and she was interested in me. Why wouldn’t I have?”

He couldn't quite read Lena’s expression, something akin to pity in her eyes, “Why’d you ask Shannon out?”

He cocked his head at her, “Uhh I didn’t. She asked me out. We were best friends. I loved her before we even went on our first date. Not really something I can re-create. I know love takes time, it did with Shannon, that time just passed before we dated.”

“Sure, yeah. Why didn’t you ask her out then?”

He shrugged, “Never thought about it. I didn’t really put my feelings into context until she asked I guess.”

“You don’t have to question your feelings like that when you actually have a crush on someone.”

“Lena, what are you trying to say? I loved her. I have never doubted that for a second. I loved being married to her.”

“The marriage you spent running away because you didn’t want it?”

“I was a kid, I wasn’t ready, and I lost her by the time I finally was ready.”

“And I am sorry for that. But…god please don’t kill me for saying this. Are you sure your love for her was romantic?”

“Lena, she was my wife.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It should be!”

“Look, Eddie, I’m trying to help. So just like, hear me out a second. For a long time I thought I liked men, I came out as bi before I realized I’m a lesbian. Society has these expectations of us. Especially for women, but knowing the bit I do about the way you grew up, you can probably relate more than a majority of men. We’re expected to fit inside this box, we grow up hearing what our relationships are supposed to look like and it gets hard to separate what you’re ‘supposed’ to want from what you actually want. But when I really sat down to think about it, I just liked the idea of being with a man, the way it made me seem ‘normal’ to an outsider. It wasn’t an easy realization but I am so much happier now that I’m not trying to be something I’m not.”

“Lena...”

“I’m not saying I know better than you do. I just want you to consider it.”

“I’m not- I thought you were joking?”

“I was, but then you started talking and it sounded familiar.”

“Well you’re wrong.”

“Okay.” She didn’t look like she believed him but dropped it anyway.

#eddie diaz #eddie is gay i dont care #911 abc #911 show #lena bosko #current wip #my writing #911 on fox

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illiana-mystery · 2 months

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WIP Wednesday

I'm back with another one of these. It's been awhile, hasn't it?

I have two WIPs to share since it's been a minute since an update. Those two WIPs being the upcoming Chapter 6 of A Decent Proposal and Chapter 3 (the last chapter) of One Thumb Down.

Hope you enjoy and read to the end for a sneak peek of a brand new fic!

Taglist: @ghnaim24, @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky, @iobsessoverfictionalmen, @emily-ella-nightshade89, @writingkitten, @crowtoed, @doodleborg

---

A Decent Proposal

After work, Arnold went straight to his local suit shop, J.R. Henry, to look at their assortment of suits and shirts.

He had been a local customer for years, but only had the budget to shop in their clearance section. Luckily, the shop keep, Wallace Henry, didn't mind one bit.

Mr. Wallace, as he was known, saw Arnold as his regular and he loved having him as such. He was much more polite and patient than his other clientele.

So when Arnold walked through those big mahogany doors, Mr. Wallace was quick to greet him, his measuring tape safely secured in hand per usual.

“Arnold,” the older man cheered before he hugged him. Arnold laughed and hugged him back, with a back tap to boot.

“Hello, Mr. Wallace,” he greeted him.

“Well, hello to you too. Long time no see. I've missed having you in.”

“Sorry, life has just been a little crazy for me lately.”

“Oh, you don't say. What's been troubling you?”

“I was recently diagnosed with general anxiety disorder, so it’s been a bit hard to cope with. I'm trying to work around it or with it…whichever is better for me.”

“Damn, that's tough. Sorry to hear that, Arnold. My Lorraine has anxiety disorder too. It used to cripple her, until she got on that new fangled anxiety medication the doctors are shilling now. Maybe you should try that.”

“Thanks, but I'm trying to handle this with meditation and supplements. I'm not really a big medicine guy.”

“Completely understandable. Just a suggestion. Now, what can I help you with today? Need a new suit for a night on the town with the misses?”

He laughed.

“No, no. Nothing like that. I have a big presentation at work and I want to look nice for our new clients.”

And Alondra…mostly for Alondra, but he didn't need to know that.

“Oh, I see. Who's this new client, if you don't mind me asking?”

“Truly Brands. They’re considering dropping Loware to work with us.”

“Really?! They must be under new management because Ernesto Rivera and Marshall Lowe have been fighting over that account for decades. Marshall made a very lucrative deal with Roman True. Why would Truly Brands want to break from Loware?”

“Because Martin Lowe is nothing like his father and is sinking his father's stock shares and reputation with his ridiculous ideas, one being charging Rowena True, daughter of Roman, more for their lackluster software. Meanwhile, Alondra and the rest of Rivaware have strived to make a better, more innovative and cost effective product for our clientele, which is more than tempting to Rowena who is tired of dealing with Martin and his cronies.”

“I see. I always knew it was a bad idea to let Martin take over Loware. I never liked that bastard,” Mr. Wallace huffed, making Arnold snicker. “I'm not surprised that Alondra put you on the account to impress Rowena then.”

“She actually didn't. I reached out to Rowena with a deal that's hard to refuse. She just needs the rest of the board on board with this deal, hence our presentation tomorrow.”

“Wow, well look at you…taking initiative. I'm sure Alondra and Ernesto are very impressed with you.”

He smirked.

“Well, I haven't been the top seller for the past 10 quarters for nothing,” he bragged.

“Fair enough. Fair enough. Well, follow me. We got some new suits on the sale rack,” he droned on before Arnold stopped him.

“Actually, I wanted to look at the regular racks,” he clarified, making Mr. Wallace turn around, eyes wide. “I got a commission check today and I think getting a new suit would be putting it to good use. After all, my dedication to Rivaware is unmatched.”

And his dedication to Alondra, of course.

“Well, alright big spender,” Mr. Wallace teased. “I got some new suits I think you'd like. Since you got this new look going on. Don't think I didn't notice. You look sharp, Mack.”

“Thank you,” he chirped before he followed the old man to the center of the store.

---

One Thumb Down

“Beto, you should go back and check on Neveah. I can finish up here and close up for you,” Juan suggested, as he observed his manager still solemnly looking out the glass doors.

He had just been standing there, with a glazed look in his eye, while he was nervously biting on his thumb.

It was a nervous tick he had since graduating from thumb sucking, per Mama Millie’s manipulation with hot pepper paste as he got older.

Yes, the taste stung, but he learned that just nibbling on his thumb still did the trick without burning his tongue off.

And it did bring him the same comfort. So that's what he was doing now, as his mind kept racing about you.

“No, no. Juan, it's your day off,” he said, still looking out to the horizon behind the front doors. “I hate that I even had to call you.”

“Beto, it's alright. I don't mind. Nev is a great young lady and you were just looking out for her.”

“I should have never let her do a maintenance request,” he moaned, before accidently biting the tip of skin by his thumbnail.

“Fuck,” he hollered, before he groaned. “God, I'm a mess."

“We do crazy things for the ones we love,” Juan responded. “Beto, I know about your little crush on Nev. I know how much she means to you. She reminds you of Gina, huh?”

Bobby paused, before turning around to face the younger man at the front desk.

“What makes you think that?” he curiously asked.

“I remember how you described Gina,” he replied. “Nev is a lot like her, personality wise. I'm not a religious person, but I do believe that sometimes we are gifted ‘angels’ if we do some good in this world. You're a good man, Beto. Maybe, Nev was sent to you by Gina.”

He softly laughed.

“I am starting to believe that actually, Juan. I learned something new about her today.”

“And what's that?”

“She's a Bjork fan…”

“Like Gina,” Juan finished for him. “Let me guess, her favorite album is Post, right?”

Bobby nodded.

“Hmmm, so I guess our theories align and have some truth to them. Nev has been blessed to you by your wife. I mean I believe it. I know how much she cared about your happiness.”

“She did,” Bobby said with a warm smile. “I miss her so much, but I'm glad to have Nev around now. Gina doesn't seem so far away when she's around.”

“So I suppose that's why you let her do the maintenance request? To spend some more time with her?”

“How did you guess?” he jokingly asked, making Juan laugh.

“You're very obvious, Beto,” he chuckled. “But I'm wondering what you're still doing here? Go back to her place and check on her. I know it's eating at you. I know you didn't want to leave her.”

“It's inappropriate for me to like her,” he huffed.

“She won't be your intern forever, Beto. Don't miss your chance. Because between you and me, I think she likes you too.”

Bobby's eyes lit up when he said that.

“You think so?”

“I see how she looks at you…the way you two interact. You two are in love. You're just too shy to see it.”

He smiled, before scratching the back of his head.

“Thanks, Juan. I needed that little talk. But as long as she's my intern, I'd like to just stay friendly. But we'll see what happens when I'm not her boss anymore. Only time can really tell.”

---

Paulie and Dosie - Sneak Peek

(Author's Note: This fic is a genderbent AU. Also, Dosie is reader and her nickname is pronounced doe-she.)

“But now I wonder, were you a theater kid?”

She laughed.

“Yes, I was. Guilty as charged,” she admitted, before she took her first bite of her burger. “I was not good enough to pursue past high school, but I did enjoy it a lot. How about you? Did the acting bug ever bite you?”

You were about to answer her, when you noticed that some of the mayo on the burger began to drip from her lips to her chin.

You wanted to say something, but before you could, she lowered the burger from her face a little and licked it off with her tongue.

Her very long tongue, to clarify.

You felt a little woozy when you finally noticed that too.

Had her tongue always been that long and you just never noticed?

Because now you really wanted to see what that tongue could do.

“Oh, I'm so sorry,” she softly said, with a devious twinkle in her eyes. “I'm such a messy eater. Did I get all the mayo off?”

“Yep,” you swiftly answered, your heart racing in your chest.

She laughed.

“Oh good,” she replied. “And you were right. This veggie burger is really good. The best I've had in a while.”

“Glad you like it,” you moaned, trying to forget what you just saw so your mind could go back to normal, clean thoughts as she began to eat your melt. “And to answer your question, I did do a few shows, but at my local community theater and I stopped in middle school. It just wasn't for me.”

“I see,” she said, before she took another bite of her burger and licked her lips like so.

You were on edge as you saw her do it again, and then you knew she was purposely trying to tease you.

And man, was she hot while doing so.

“Have you ever seen Rocky Picture Horrow Show?”

“Only like every year! I used to go with my ex-girlfriend. Our local theater in Rochester hosted it every year.”

“Well, I've gone every year since college. I go to this off-Broadway theater to see it and it's amazing. Maybe I can take you this year?”

“I would love that!” she chirped, before you both reached for a fry. You both laughed before Pauline gave it to you.

So you paid it forward and dipped it in ketchup before you gave it to her to eat. She grabbed your hand and moved it forward, twirling her tongue around the fry like it was cherry stem before she pulled it into her mouth.

You were quite impressed by her little trick and she smirked when she noticed your reaction.

“If you like that, you'd love what I can do with a cherry stem,” she seductively bragged, before she whispered, “And a clit.”

You nervously laughed again.

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leahnardo-da-veggie · 2 months

Text

Writerly Question Tag

Back from my self-mandated social media break to respond to tags from @urnumber1star, @cowboybrunch, @fortunatetragedy and @the-golden-comet :')

About You

When did you start writing?

Damned if I know. My parents told me that I used to tell my toys stories at bedtime back when I still slept in a cradle, though (I started talking at 6months)

Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write?

Very different, actually. I love reading sci-fi and almost never touch horror, but I've written tons of horror and only 1 sci-fi. Plus, I hage reading slice of life.

Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you’re often compared?

I'm a fan of Mark Lawrence's writing (he's super underrated), and though I'd rather not emulate someone directly, I sure wouldn't mind if someone compared me to him.

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)?

The walk to school, the busses and trains I take, walking my dog. Basically on the go.

What’s your most effective way to muster up some muse?

Go out and live my life. Eventually I'll see something cool and insist upon turning it into a short story.

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

Yeah, it's basically made me physically incapable of writing anyone other than city ppl.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

Err... The horrors persist but so do I is a personal favourite among my one-shots. And platonic male-female relationships is another darling of mine.

Your Characters

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character? (Current WIP, past WIP, never used, etc.)

I literally almost never talk about him, but Hans-el, the Spirit Emperor, chews my heart up and spits it out on a regular basis. I'm currently writing a short story from his pov, which I may or may not try to submit for publishing, so I guess look out for that when it happens?

Which of your characters would you be friends with in real life?

Err- I think Hash, Dave and I would be buddies. They're probably the only ones, though.

Which characters would you dislike the most if you met them?

Everyone else. Iraela would get mocked relentlessly by me, Katherine and I would but heads immediately, and I would cheerfully start a gossip war with Luna. And yeah, I would get my ass kicked in every above fight, but that's never stopped me before.

Tell me about the process of coming up with your characters?

They show up whenever the plot demands it, and then headlock me until I write more about them. Alternatively they infiltrate my dreams and haunt me.

Do you notice any reoccurring themes/traits in your characters?

I like people who destroy themselves in blazes of flaming triumph. Also headstrong bitchy women, because I am one.

How do you picture your characters?

I don't lol. My mind just doesn't do the whole 'mental image' thing. I can hear them though.

Your Writing

What’s your reason for writing?

I have nothing better to do with my life.

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

If they like something I did with my writing (technique, phrasing, etc) and mention it, I will melt with joy.

How do you want to be thought of by those who read your work?

I just want to be heard.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Description. I don't really do visual descs, but I love nailing voices to the wall and dissecting them.

What have you been frequently told your greatest writing strength is by others?

Description, dialogue (or internal monologue), and gore

How do you feel about your own writing?

I go through the five stages of grief with it: 'oh I'm finally done', 'i love it so much', 'hey maybe I should edit it some more to make it better', 'oh fuck it actually sucks', 'okay nevermind let's never think of it again'

If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

I'd be dead too quickly to write, honestly. But if I survive, fuck yeah. I'll scrawl my words across a meadow and scream it from the sky.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy?

Every now and then I cringe from how weird my writing is, but it always passes.

Tagging @just-emis-blog, @drchenquill, @novel-nook-blog, @thecoolerlucky, @the-letterbox-archives

@kaylinalexanderbooks, @honeybewrites, @orions-quill, @vampirelover890, @glitched-dawn and open tag!

#writing #Tag games

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idontknowreallywhy · 1 year

Text

A little WIP piece for our favourite Musician’s birthday.

I really really really meant to have completed the ceiling paint mystery one for today but it’s messing with me and I can’t get the ending right, so I’m compensating by starting yet another fic (with my usual music-nerd theme) promoted by my chats with the well of inspiration that is @astranite - thanks for letting me mess around with this one.

Blitzed out in my lunch break and entirely unproof-read… but if I don’t post now I’ll keep prodding it instead of actually doing my job so…

THE SOUND

“I know what the post-flight readouts say, Brains!”

He breathed in for an adagio 4 then out for the same, allowing the white hot knot of tension between his brows to ease a little. The gap it left behind it was immediately filled with the hollowness of guilt that he’d let himself snap at his old friend. He dug his fingernails into his palms and summoned the overly-calm baritone that was most effective when cajoling his elder brother into something resembling a reasonable response to whatever the latest apparently world-ending catastrophe was.

“I trust your creations and your protocols, I do, but I need you to trust me too. I know her and I know she sounded… off.”

“Off” was an understatement. Two had been shrieking at him all the way home. Oh, her habitual E-pitch purr was there, and the usual harmonics from ploughing through pockets of turbulence. Even the faint echo that told him her fuel tank was nearing empty… that was all a familiar part of the symphony. It was the extra note that made his teeth sting. That sharp wavering whine which defied his attempts to fix a pitch and filled his vision with flashing daggers of sickly neon green instead of his girl’s usual rich rainforest blanket.

Scott’s eyes flicked over to Gordon with an unspoken question. His wingman’s shoulders were a picture of awkwardness and he appeared to be trying to dig through the floor of the hangar with the toe of his boot.

“I couldn’t hear it guys… but you know me, I’ve got the musical subtlety of a rock. I shouldn’t get a say. Maybe we shouldn’t take her up again until Virg has had a look?”

Virgil caught his eye and focussed so hard on trying to convey his overwhelming gratitude that he moo-ed slightly. Coughing loudly to cover his own throat’s betrayal, he straightened and turned to his Commander whose exasperation was already tangible:

“I recommend that Two be grounded until Brains and I can complete a full systems check.”

Scott raised an eyebrow then his expression softened and he delivered a #7 variant of the Scott Tracy “Fine”. Virgil knew from the mid-range pitch combined with the slight increase in airflow towards the end of the word that this specific “Fine” meant “I should really be grumpier about this but I’m too tired and I know you’ll win me over anyway because you’re adorable”.

His long-suffering elder brother spun on his heel and tapped his comm as he walked away:

“John, Two is offline for 24 hours, please reroute anything One and Shadow can’t handle to the GDF.”

Virgil’s gaze had already narrowed on his beloved green behemoth as he pondered the most likely source of the disturbance when he sensed movement on the ground behind him. Gordon was knelt down on one knee, head bowed and the largest wrench in the workshop balanced on his upturned palms.

“Your battle sword, my liege.”

[Nerd note: Adagio is generally accepted to be between 55-65 beats per minute. So it’s a 4 second breath in.]

[Lore note: there are actually 16 Scott Tracy “Fines” and only Virgil can distinguish them all]

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #virgil tracy #scott tracy #gordon tracy #brains (thunderbirds)#music!virgil #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderfam #synaesthesia!Virgil #Scott Tracy says Fine #Gordon is an awesome wingman #music is everything #thunderbird two #the sound mystery #the symphony of two #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #Thunderfluff

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landwriter · 5 months

Note

Hi, hello,

I'd like to hear something about the skin wip

Hi, hello! Skin is my actual Lighthouse AU after someone sent me this super funny ask registering their displeasure with my choice of fandom for the Seventies SF AU, named Lighthouses. I'm very easily encouraged. Even when being discouraged for something I'm not actually doing. I laughed about doing one and then went and wrote in Untitled 1:

Lighthouse Keeper AU - Hob is lighthouse keeper, Dream is human or else eldritch sea creature - or SEEMS human but is a selkie/changeling who will return? Either star-crossed romance or like, gothic romance - lots of gay sex and desire and the sea, old-timey language, lanterns, etc, wailing wind, Forbidden Acts Isolation, alienation from other men, being Slightly Off, loneliness, exploring where you shouldn’t Hob fucks selkie who is also Dream?? Why would Dream be lighthouse keeper? Maybe he murders them but like, Hob found his skin or something and he has to pretend to be a human lighthouse keeper Hob finding journal entries suggesting imminent and terrifying demise of former keepers, can link them to Dream in some way

I also wrote 'all dialogue should be in iambic pentameter' but we'll pretend I didn't.

What can I say about it? I think it can be best described by the fact I scrolled through the WIP as it is now, a collection of scraps and research curios and a couple half-written scenes, and came across:

Beware the shore on haar and hoolan night, beware the sea of star-lost whalers’ plight

Which I have no, and I mean NO recollection of writing, but has no results when I google it. That's sort of the energy I want for the whole thing. Gothic horror fever dream. Claustrophobia and a locked-room mystery. Men driven to terror and mad loneliness and violence. Letters that arrive too late. Thievery and suspicion and revenge. Greed and possession. Becoming/loving the monstrous.

Some of the notes I evidently left myself that don't read as unhinged at allllll under the cut, if you want to read more about it still:

Smalls lighthouse - great oak stilts slime!!! rocks!! smoking! salt water wind, stabbing kind of rain, the way wind buffets first and moisture on it secondary, white waves, seabirds hanging in the air like mobile above a crib, carving with a knife, bleeding - nicking finger, dream looking over as he sucks it - is whittling the selkie/monster form alcohol maybe something weird where dream refuses alcohol and hob finds out something wrong with their water supply - dream is just drinking saltwater hob giving season of the mists style toast sailors have used tobacco pouches made from sealskin ‘where did you put my skin? where did you put my skin?’ bonding over lost sons hob sends pigeon or message otherwise thanking for relief, noting supply shortage, or smthn. days later gets message back being like, no relief sent. protean forms - changing easily - from god proteus - a protean selkie?? Fiddler's Green is an after-life where there is perpetual mirth, a fiddle that never stops playing, and dancers who never tire. In 19th-century English maritime folklore, it was a kind of after-life for sailors who had served at least fifty years at sea. important that lighthouse is decaying, used to be nice, now is not gothic theme of ascent/descent with ladder images of death etc claustrophobic, sunless environment, action at night or in fog - no sun imagination over reason

I've never done gothic before and I'm super excited to explore it with this story! I'm going for something like, old and musty smelling, sort of The Terror, lighthouse-edition, except with less death and more monster-fucking. A sluttier The Lighthouse (2019).

#disclaimer i have seen NONE of the terror #just read some very good fanfic for it #i think my great joy in this one will be the lurid indulgent ATMOSPHERE of it all #and the fussiest joy in trying to get an ear for the language of it #asks #wip title ask game #skin #lighthouse au #my process #my very normal process

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abarbaricyalp · 8 months

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Hi! Not sure how it works, but for the Whumptober event: #15 for SamBucky?

Oh it is so embarrassing to be answering this so late. I have literally been working on it (off and on) since October. It never strayed from the top of my WIP pile. I just...gestures vaguely Thank you so much for sending in a prompt and I'm so sorry to have taken so long. I do love a good "Leave me alone, I'm fine" whump. I went with "Makeshift bandages" but I'm sure you can find "suppressed suffering" and "I'm fine" if you squint.

Putting Bandages Where Stitches Should Be

CW: Injury, violence, blood, etc

Read on AO3

Steve was right again. Sam hated it when Steve was right. It was making an indisputably bad day even worse.

"Don't go out today," Steve had said, all puppy-dogged eyes that morning. "I've got a bad feeling."

Him and his bad feelings. He called it a soldier's intuition and Sam called it a soldier's paranoia. But, dammit, he was usually right. That couldn’t be a byproduct of the serum, could it?

But it was a beautiful fall day and they needed groceries something fierce, so Sam had rolled his eyes and called him paranoid and headed out.

It had been fine for several hours, Sam wanted it noted. Just a normal day of errands. Hell, no one had even recognized him. He even tried a new coffee drink.

With a hysterical kind of laugh, Sam realized he hadn’t even made it to the grocery store yet. Probably a good thing since the car was now languishing in a parking lot somewhere and it was only going to get warmer as the day went on. What time was it, he wondered. Had Steve realized something was wrong yet? That paranoid intuition would be real handy right about then.

Sam leaned back against the dingy wall and tried not to think about how badly he was sweating against it. It was going to start mildewing. He still couldn’t figure out where these guys came from. The parking lot had been almost completely empty. There’d been no one else near him. One second, he was loading up a bag of new blankets into the back of the car, and the next someone was hitting him upside the head and dragging him away.

He knew they had to be trained at least a little. They were quiet and fierce. Nothing that Sam couldn’t normally hand, but there had been no fighting through the early wound to his head. Actually, it was still pulsing, each heartbeat a new throb of bruise-ache against his skull. The longer he sat here, the further the ache traveled, reaching for his temples, his ears, his eyes.

He closed his eyes, as if that would stave off anything at all, and listened to the ambient noise of whatever not-so-safe house he was being held in. He’d seen neither hide nor hair of his attackers since they’d thrown him into the small room. He assumed it was an apartment and this was some bedroom or office. It was clean, the carpet was almost soft. There were worse places, he thought. And with it being carpet, maybe they weren’t looking to make him bleed. That’d be nice.

He knew other people were around. He could hear them pacing around the other side of the door. His head hurt too much to concentrate on what they were saying. They were speaking German, which he didn’t speak, but it gave him a good feel that this was probably Hydra. It made the apartment even more confusing. What would Hydra want with Sam that involved just keeping him thrown in an empty office?

There was a cacophony outside then, snarling and the sounds of blows landing on bodies, bodies falling to the floor.

“Ich habe es dir gesagt!” he heard someone shout. “Er ist der Winter Soldier!”

Someone was shitting Sam. Instantly, all of the minor irritation of the day flooded over the actual concern of having been kidnapped by neo-Nazi assholes. If he’d said ‘this day can’t get worse’ this is the exact outcome that would have made it worse. He’d take bleeding over this.

There was more fighting and then the door was wrenched open and a very bloodied and bruised Winter Soldier was kicked into the room, landing hard on his face and wrist beside Sam.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Sam said, just to get it out there.

Barnes turned over onto his back, keeping his hurt wrist against his chest. He looked up at Sam, scowled through the blood on his face, managed to glare while both eyes were almost swelled shut. “I ain’t thrilled to see you neither, birdbrain,” he coughed. He turned back onto his side to spit out a glob of blood that landed on the knee of Sam’s jeans.

“Asshole,” Sam snapped and tried to clean it off, even though it was already a lost battle. “I take it you fought back,” Sam guessed.

“I take it you did not,” Bucky shot back and it felt more like an insult than an actual insult would have.

Sam scowled at him. It had been months since they’d seen each other. Sam couldn’t even say what city or even country it was that he’d caught up to Barnes in. It hadn’t been a long meeting. More or less just enough time for them to grapple and exchange a few threats before Barnes shook Sam’s tail again. At first, Sam took it as a personal failing that he kept losing Barnes. He was too ashamed to admit to Steve that he’d caught up with the reanimated best friend but let him slip away. Then, as time went on and Sam caught him more often, he placed all of the blame fully on Barnes. There were times, he knew, when Barnes let him catch up. These happened only often enough to keep Sam in the cat-and-mouse game. There were times, he also knew, when Barnes fully didn’t expect Sam to have found him. Two months ago was one of those times. Barnes had seemed healthy and adjusted. He had his own place and there was fresh bread on the table. Small miracles.

That did not explain why Barnes was in New York or anywhere near it in order to get the shit beat out of him by Hydra goons and dragged into whatever this was.

Barnes shoved himself up by the elbows and spit more blood out. So much for keeping the carpet clean. “So what the fuck did you do to land us here?”

“This is not an ‘us’ situation,” Sam objected with a snort. “What did you do to land you here?”

“Fuck all,” Barnes answered. He leaned against the wall next to Sam, tilted his head back to avoid gushing more blood from his nose. Sam had seen him hurt before, but he’d never been around for the fall out like this. He was like some stray dog, sleeping off the worst of it and trying to lick clean all of the rest. “You told me it was an emergency.”

Sam looked away from a smear of blood on Bucky’s neck to frown at him directly. “I did not reach out to you. And what kind of emergency could possibly make you come all the way back to America?”

Bucky’s head lolled over to him. A muscle worked in his jaw and down his neck as those obnoxious eyes scanned over Sam’s face. “You said Steve was hurt. Bad.”

“I didn’t. He’s not. That’s all it would’ve taken to get you back here?” he asked, just a little offended that he’d been traipsing around the world and digging huge chunks into his sleep deficit when there was a magic code to bring Bucky back on his own. And all it would take was Steve landing himself in a hospital again.

Bucky half waved him off, turned his head away again. “Someone must’ve really wanted me here.”

“I cannot fathom why.”

They sat in stony silence for too long. Sam much preferred being alone, he decided. At least then silence was just silence and not this crackling energy between them. Barnes broke the silence by coughing wetly again and spitting out more blood and tissue.

“Christ alive,” Sam sighed. “What’s going on with you?” He reached out without any fanfare to hold Bucky’s face and examine the injuries there. There’d been no time for any of them to heal, not that Sam would’ve been able to tell through the blood. “Hold still,” he ordered and reached for the hidden knife in Bucky’s bootheel that he knew was there.

“How?” Bucky asked. Sam was surprised to only find curiosity in his voice and not anger.

“I’ve seen you take it out before. Just had to hope it wasn’t something Hydra taught you and knew to look for.”

“Nah, that one’s all Brooklyn,” he said with a tired sigh. “Well, kind of. I adapted it.”

Sam rolled his eyes. The old-timey Brooklyn posturing was the same whether it was Steve or Barnes, evidently. He cut the sleeve off of his shirt and used it to begin cleaning away some of the blood on Bucky’s face. It was slow going without water, but Barnes was remarkably quiet during the entire thing. He let Sam work without fussing. His eyes remained focused and sharp, bright even in the dim room. He was more enjoyable when his eyes looked like this, instead of the dead shark stare he got in the middle of a fight.

Not that Sam was going to admit Barnes was ever enjoyable to be around.

“What do you think this is about?” Sam asked to distract Bucky from the fact that he was about to set his nose back.

“Clearly they wanted the both of us–Fuck you, Wilson!” Bucky shouted and shoved Sam hard enough that Sam actually rocked back and lost his balance, sprawled across the floor. Sam subtly rolled out his shoulder–it was definitely going to bruise–before he sat up again and glared.

“I didn’t think you wanted the rugged crooked nose look,” he defended without any real belief in the words. He was actually kind of worried about what the serum would do to a persistently crooked nose.

Bucky rubbed from the bridge of his nose into the soft, squishy bruises around his eyes. Already, impossibly, the color was draining from the outer edges of the bruises. Sam hated him for it.

“Clearly they wanted both of us,” Sam agreed and rolled his shoulder again. “But…they don’t seem keen on cutting off fingers.”

“Not yet,” Bucky grunted.

“They gotta know we won’t talk. You won’t talk. Don’t you think it’s kind of playing with fire to bring you here? I mean, you’re not even drugged.”

As if his words were a reminder, Bucky eyed the door. Sam knew he could take it out of the wall if he wanted too. He also knew that whoever these assholes were, they had enough manpower to bring Bucky in bloodied and rough. He figured Bucky was doing similar calculations in his mind.

“Why us?” Sam prompted again.

“Steve,” Bucky grunted. He leaned back against the wall and drew his knees up to his chest. “They wouldn’t bother to hunt me down, wouldn’t take that risk, for anything else. They probably think if they have both of us, they have twice as much leverage.”

“Maybe they couldn’t decide which one he was more likely to come for,” Sam suggested, only a little sarcastically.

“That man would rend the Earth apart for you,” Bucky said as simply as he would talk about the weather.

Sam tried not to blow over again. Bucky believed that. He wasn’t just saying it to be a shit. “Have you been watching us?” he asked, instead of asking for a thesis on why Bucky thought that so assuredly.

Bucky cut him a look. It was dampened by the bruises. “I had to keep making sure neither of you had gotten yourselves killed yet.”

“Yeah, you’re a real shining example of how to do it right. Show back up on American soil for two minutes and instantly get captured,” Sam snarked back. He needed to put some distance between his current situation and the fact that Barnes thought Steve would ‘rend the Earth apart’ for him. “Come here and let me look at that wrist.”

“Is this how you were with the pararescue?”

“Good at my job? Yes.”

“So damn pushy,” Barnes corrected. But he shifted how he was sitting so they were almost knee to knee and then held out his arm. “It’ll heal on its own,” he said. “I’ve had worse.”

“Or I can just wrap it and you don’t have to worry about rebreaking it later. Do you know how many carpal bones there are? You keep fucking them up, or the tendons attached to them, and you’re gonna be in a world of hurt for longer than you need to be.”

“There are eight,” Barnes said, just to be difficult. “Should I name them all for you too?”

Sam took half a second to glare at him before returning his attention to Bucky’s wrist. Barnes was long fingered, which was something Sam knew logically. He’d seen him handle weaponry. Seen him fight. Still, it was different when those fingers were laid out across his forearm, a little swollen, a little curled in, but still so damn pretty. Sam had never met someone with pretty hands before. He’d expected Bucky’s hands to be gnarled and scarred from a lifetime of fighting and training and abuse, but they just weren’t. The serum helped, he assumed. He wondered what they had looked like on the man from all of Steve’s stories. Had they looked like this, even working on the docks all day and boxing his way through the nights?

Everyone Sam knew who’d ever worked around boats had hands that were rope-burned and muscled and suntanned. He’d half expected Bucky’s to be similar. Instead, his hands were…not soft, exactly. But clean and smooth.

He pushed his thumbs into Bucky’s wrist, dragging them down his metacarpals. Barnes hissed in a breath and his eyes darted away from Sam’s ministrations. Sam returned his thumbs to Bucky’s wrist and then pushed down into his ulna and radius. He didn’t react as strongly to that, so Sam focused on the carpals that were up high in his wrist. (Down low? He could never remember how to orient the body)

“Where does it hurt?” he asked, probing for the misaligned bone but coming up empty.

“Everywhere,” Barnes ground out. “It fucking hurts everywhere.” But he didn’t yank his hand away, so Sam kept at it. Finally, finally, something snapped as Sam pushed his thumbs down into Bucky’s wrist for an umpteenth time. Bucky swore colorfully and snatched his hand back at that, rubbing his own fingers over his wrist while new curses came out.

“Let me wrap it a little,” Sam offered, holding his hand out again.

Bucky looked at him like he bit. Sam had read all the notes about the Winter Soldier. How medical treatment was administered. When the Soldier cooperated and when he didn’t. The Soldier could handle inordinate amounts of pain. Bucky Barnes, it seemed, did not feel like keeping the habit alive.

“It’ll be fine without a sling,” he insisted. “It already feels better.” And then, from between his teeth, he added, “Thank you.”

He was still bloodied, hair matted all to hell. He looked like some kind of wild man. Actually, he kind of looked how Sam expected to find him at the beginning of the Great Barnes Search and Rescue Mission. He came forward again, beginning to wipe at Bucky’s face one more time.

“You’re disgusting to look at,” he defended when Bucky tacked a lazy glare on him.

“Just admit you wanna touch my face, Wilson,” Bucky shot back.

Sam accidentally reopened a wound, so he tore off a piece from his demolished sleeve and stuck it to the gash like toilet paper on a shaving knick.

“You’re so dumb,” Bucky sighed as his eyes closed. Then he pitched right into Sam, almost completely boneless.

“Barnes?” Sam barked as he fought to get his hands under Bucky’s body enough to lift him again. “Do not fucking pass out,” he ordered, possibly irrelevantly. “Barnes,” he snapped again, and gently smacked the better, less bruised side of his face. “You didn’t say you were concussed. You didn’t say you had more injuries.” He yanked up Bucky’s shirt, prodding his belly and ribs for any signs of internal bleeding, but came up short. Just a bunch of outside bruises, maybe a crack in his ribs. He wrenched open Bucky’s mouth to check for signs he’d been coughing blood, but didn’t find any of that either. He was just about to shove his fingers down Bucky’s throat to look for a blood clot when his eyes fluttered open again.

He took a few seconds to recognize his surroundings–distressingly still and relaxed about waking up in a room he didn’t know–and then he reached up for Sam’s wrist and pulled his hand away. “Why were your fingers in my mouth?”

Sam rolled his eyes while he waited for his heart to stop thundering in his chest. Just his luck. Find the prodigal best friend and watch him die before Sam could drop him at Steve’s feet. “You basically begged for me to,” he scoffed. “Sam, please, you’ve just got such good fingers. I need them in my mouth.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, then grimaced. So it probably was some kind of concussion. At least Sam didn’t have to worry about blood clots. “What’s happened? How long was I out?”

“Nothing. A few seconds,” Sam answered. “Don’t do that again.”

Bucky saluted from halfway up his chest. “Whatever, man. I’m just tired.”

“I don’t care what you are. Keep your eyes open.”

The door opened then and a tall man, dressed like a movie villain with tall dark boots and a long dark coat, walked into the room. He had Sam’s phone in his hand and it was trilling with a waiting phone call.

“You don’t keep a passcode on your phone?” Bucky asked drily.

“Of course I fucking do,” Sam snapped back.

“Gentlemen, please,” the man said with a stifled German accent.

Steve picked up just before it would’ve gone to voicemail. “Sam, hey, I was about to send out a rescue party.”

Bucky looked at Sam pointedly, which Sam ignored. It was just a joke. He hadn’t been gone that long. Probably.

“Mr. Rogers,” the man in the coat greeted. Sam could practically feel Steve go still on the other side of the call. “I seem to have acquired not only your friend’s cell phone, but him as a whole person. And he came along with another friend.”

He snapped a photo of Sam and Bucky. Bucky barely flinched at the flash, but a few seconds later, he was still blinking and shaking his head, like the light was still in his eyes. The bad guy du jour tapped around on Sam’s phone and Sam heard it buzz in on Steve’s end.

Steve was quiet, contemplative for a few seconds. Then he said, “You have Sam and Bucky?”

“Yeeesss,” the man agreed with a lilting exaggeration. “I didn’t know they came as a pair.”

“They don’t, usually. But now that you do have both, good luck.”

And then the little shit hung up the phone. Even the asshole German guy stared at the screen in disbelief. Another man appeared in the hallway. He cast a nervous glance towards Bucky, whose eyes were shut again, before redirecting his attention to his boss.

“What’d he say?” the man asked. He was fully American. Jersey, maybe.

“Bad connection,” the other man ground out before stalking down the hallway. The second man hurried to keep up. The door remained open.

Sam nudged Bucky’s ribs. “Stop it,” Bucky grumbled without opening his eyes.

“If you pass out again, I’m not waking you up this time,” Sam lied. “What did Steve mean?”

“I think he meant we can handle ourselves. I just need to…” He grimaced. “I just need to rest my eyes for a little while. Then I’ll be good to go.”

“The door is open now,” Sam pointed out under his breath. “Come on, you don’t have some kind of super hearing where you can fight with your eyes closed?”

Bucky raised one eyebrow in consideration. It stressed a gash across his brow. “I can fight in the dark,” he agreed.

“I’ll keep anyone from hitting you in the face again,” Sam promised. “But we have to go now.”

Bucky squeezed his eyes open and leveled a calculating glare on Sam before he nodded. “Alright,” he agreed, which felt like a miracle in and of itself. He pushed himself to his feet and then leaned back against the wall as he pressed the heels of his hands over his browbones.

Sam stood as well and put a hand to Bucky’s elbow. In all their brief encounters, they didn’t get much time to touch each other, unless they were brawling over nothing but ego. Bucky was actually…kind of soft beneath Sam’s fingers. And warm. He was certainly not the sharp edged, battle ready soldier Sam kept finding. He felt real and alive. And he was still trying to blink his eyes open.

Sam curled his fingers tighter around Bucky’s elbow and pulled him out into the hallway. He scanned the unit for any sunlight that he could use to orient himself. Without speaking, Bucky pulled him to the stairs. They made it most of the way down before the wall of the stairs gave way to an open railing and they were spotted by more assholes in black.

“Y’all coordinate these outfits beforehand or y’all keep changes of clothes here?” Sam asked before he threw Bucky into the crowd of assholes.

He tried to keep his promise about keeping punches away from Bucky’s face. They landed damn near everywhere else. Sam had underestimated how many people there were–numbers growing from three to five to nine until he lost count. Bucky was holding his own, putting men down two-to-one to Sam, climbing to three-to-one. Sam tried to catch glimpses of the rest of the house. There was a wall of windows, covered in curtains and pasted over with film or paper. The rest of the room looked like a dining room or something. Behind them was nothing but more room and dark walls.

“Find the front door,” Bucky snapped when Sam’s eyes went to the window again. He smashed someone’s head down on the banister with enough force to crack either bone or wood. “I’m not jumping through glass.”

Sam rolled his eyes and then ducked away from a Goddamn hammer. He wrestled it away from the man wielding it, then threw it at the window to shatter it open. “There you go. No need to jump,” he said breathlessly. He turned just in time to catch someone around the waist and throw them into the wall before they could get the drop on Bucky, who was, if Sam had to guess, wrenching someone’s arm out of socket.

Bucky got a gun from somewhere and made fast work of everyone else in the room, but not before the guy who Sam had thrown into the wall smashed Sam’s head into it in retaliation. On the opposite side from the open wound Sam was already contending with, of course. Why shouldn’t the bruises match?

“You’re bleeding,” Bucky said, cutting through the ringing, violent silence that had fallen over the house. He wiped away the blood that was pouring over his own eye, completely oblivious to the irony. “Jesus, you’re bleeding a lot. What happened?”

Sam stared at him a little dumbfounded. “Are you serious right now?”

Bucky tsked away his bitching, yanking Sam over to examine his forehead like a collector looking at diamonds. “Gross,” he decided and then ripped the collar of his shirt off like it was nothing, along with a chunk of the bottom of it. “Don’t move,” he ordered as he folded the fabric over on itself a few times and then pressed it tightly over the wound on Sam’s head. He used the collar of his shirt to tie the fabric down.

His fingers were absurdly gentle as he worked. The warmth that had radiated off of his body was gone now, fingers cool against the bruise-hot burn of Sam’s skin. Sam didn’t realize his eyes had fallen shut until Bucky gently touched his other cheek and tilted his face down just a little. “Don’t die,” he said.

Sam didn’t have the energy to glare at him. “Pot, kettle,” he managed to say. He pulled Bucky’s hand away from his face and looked around the room. “You know this wasn’t everyone.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got the rest handled,” he promised and held up a grenade.

“What the fuck?” Sam asked, staring at it like he’d never seen one before. “Why did someone just have that on them?”

Bucky shrugged. “It’s not even a good one,” he said disappointedly. “There probably isn’t anyone else here, but at least no one will be able to come back,” he offered. He crossed to the window and removed the remaining glass with his metal arm, still looking at it like it was personally offending him.

They helped each other through the window with the unspoken agreement not to mention it again after this. Both of them had enough blood dripping in their eyes and rattled brains to warrant it just this once.

“You handled yourself pretty well without your wings,” Bucky offered as they walked away from the house. “How big do you suppose that window is?”

“I was trained before I had the wings,” Sam pointed out sharply. He glanced over his shoulder to reassess the broken window. “Four by six, you think?”

“Sure, the whole thing, but what about the cleared part?”

“Two by three? Four?”

Bucky regarded the grenade in his hand and the distance between them and the house. “I can do that,” he decided.

They walked a few meters more before he turned fully, pulled the pin of the grenade, and then threw it with an accuracy that would have more Cy Young winners seething with jealousy. Not to mention the distance and force of it too.

A few seconds later, the house exploded. Bucky was right. It wasn’t a very good grenade.

Sam looked around the wooded area they were in, a marginal field around them before the trees started up again, which was probably best because of the fire now. “So, where the fuck are we?” he asked.

“And how the fuck do we get home?” Bucky finished with a ridiculous perturbed set to his lips.

“Ah, shit, that asshole still had my phone,” Sam groaned when the patting of his pants came up empty. He knew Steve’s number by heart, but he didn’t imagine Bucky had his phone on him either.

“We could go see where he went,” Bucky suggested. “That explosion was not cool enough to take out any of the cars.”

“Neither one of us is in any condition to go track someone down.”

“Could be fun.”

Bucky was already looking at him when Sam glanced over to see if he was being serious. “You wanna try to live out the last third of an action movie?”

“Second third at best,” Bucky scoffed with a wave. “Lots more adventures ahead of us. The Winter Soldier and the Falcon has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“It would absolutely be The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Captain Good-Looking and The Grouchy Soldier. Angel and Asshole.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky interrupted, reaching for Sam’s hand. For just a second, Sam’s heart may have stuttered in his chest. But all Bucky was doing was unwinding the bandage Sam had put around his wrist earlier so that he could patch up the sluggishly bleeding gashes on Sam’s knuckles now. “Come on, Pilot Hyperbole. We’re losing daylight.”

“The Falcon and the Hound Dog,” Sam added, following Bucky as they skirted the smoldering building to find a car.

They drove away into an easing sunset.

If you enjoyed this, please consider leaving a kudos and a note on AO3

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #captain america #sambucky fanfic #the falcon and the winter soldier #writing #whumptober2023

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